1GLO-INDIAN  IDYL^B  PR 

6019 
J6396k 


UES  JOHNSTON^] 

""^sSSi 


Kela    Bai : 

An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 


Kela  Bai 

An  Anglo-Indian  Idyll 

By 

Charles  Johnston 

Bengal  Civil  Service,  Retired 


Doubleday  &  McClure  Co. 
New  York  1900 


COPYBIGHT,  1900,  BY 

DOUBLEDAY  &  McCLTJRE  CO. 


pft 


GENTLE  EEADEE: 

The  Lady  whose  fate 
you  will  follow,  being  but  a  Pagan  and 
of  barbarous  speech,  may  not  solicit  your 
favor  in  her  proper  person.  Yet  through 
the  lips  of  the  Author  she  would  proffer  one 
request  :  that  you  pronounce  her  name  as 
though  it  were  written  Kay-la  Bah-ee,  not 
otherwise  ;  the  first  word  —  /  cannot  call  it 
Christian  name  —  being  rhymed  to  Sailor 
as  the  English  speak  it,  with  a  clipping  of 
the  end,  while  the  second  part  ends  some- 
thing like  a  Sigh.  Yet  she  would  not  have 
you  sigh,  nor  I  neither,  but  rather  to  find 
pleasure  and  delight.  For,  wide  apart  in 
other  things,  the  Lady  and  the  Author  are 
yet  alike  in  this:  that  we  depend  for  our 
well-being  on  the  general  good-will.  Gain- 
ing but  this,  we  your  petitioners  will  ever 

pray. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


Kela  Bai :  An  Anglo-Indian 
Idyl 

"  All  Narad  and  the  Seven  Sages  taught, 
Woman  by  nature  knows." 


It  was  the  time  of  divine  weather  after 
the  rains.  The  hot  season  had  burned 
itself  away.  The  monsoon  had  burst  in 
sweat-drops  at  the  end  of  June.  Then 
came  four  steaming  months,  when  the  air 
was  white  with  the  hiss  and  the  swish  and 
the  swirl  of  the  rains.  The  swollen  Ganges 
overtopped  her  banks,  and  foamed  among 
the  roots  of  the  yellow  babul-bushes.  Por- 
poises turned  somersaults  in  the  brown 
eddies.  The  rain-birds  wailed  in  every 
dripping  grove. 

1 


Kela  Bai: 

But  now  the  rains  were  over.  The  white 
fever-mists  were  gone.  The  sky  was  blue 
again :  pale  turquoise  overhead,  and  pearly 
white  around  the  sunrise.  There  was  a 
keen  smell  in  the  air,  the  acrid  smoke  of 
last  night's  cooking  wreathed  among  the 
morning  mists.  The  bazaar  was  just  be- 
ginning to  stir.  Over  the  dun  thatch  of 
the  houses  climbed  melons  with  broad 
green  leaves.  The  dew  lay  heavy  on  their 
yellow  trumpet-flowers,  like  wet  seed 
pearls.  The  stems  of  the  date-palms  were 
red  in  the  sunrise.  They  threw  ferny 
shadows  on  the  reddened  matting  of  the 
walls.  The  broad  leaves  of  the  bananas, 
soft  and  pale  green,  rowed  gently  in  the 
breeze. 

Kela  Bai's  parrot  Tota  swung  his  perch 
to  and  fro  in  the  upper  veranda  of  her 
house.  He  was  green,  with  a  red  blaze  on 
his  forehead.  He  shrieked  at  the  kites 
and  the  eagles  swooping  low  along  the 
dusty  street,  and  then  broke  into  a  long 
chuckle.  Tota  was  always  first  awake. 
A  couch  creaked  inside.  A  shutter-door 
2 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

opened  on  the  veranda,  and  a  bare  brown 
arm  threw  a  half-banana  deftly  at  Tota, 
which  Tota  caught  cleverly  in  one  claw. 
The  arm  disappeared,  and  drowsy  sounds 
of  stretching  and  yawning  drifted  through 
the  window.  Tota  swung  round  his  perch, 
and  began  to  eat  the  banana,  hanging  head 
downwards  by  one  claw.  When  the  ban- 
ana was  finished,  Tota  set  the  perch  once 
more  a-swinging. 

"  Go  to  Gehenna,  son  of  a  swine,  son  of 
a  swine,  son  of  a  swine!  "  he  shrilled,  with 
cheerful  iteration,  speaking  to  no  one  in 
particular.  Doors  and  shutters  began  to 
open,  as  the  bazaar  came  awake;  and  the 
blush  died  out  of  the  sunshine.  In  the 
upper  room  that  opened  on  the  veranda, 
Kela  Bai  sat  on  the  edge  of  her  couch, 
rubbing  the  dreams  out  of  her  eyes.  Then 
she  threw  her  arms  above  her  head,  and 
stretched  herself  long  and  deliciously. 
Then  she  yawned  again.  She  was  lithe 
and  supple,  with  a  glossy,  light-brown 
skin,  and  big  dark  eyes.  Then  she  be- 
gan to  smile.  She  remembered  that  she 
3 


Kela  Bai: 

had  been  dreaming  it  was  her  birthday. 
She  often  dreamed  this,  and  always  celeb- 
rated it  by  holding  a  festival,  and  receiv- 
ing presents.  She  had  friends  everywhere : 
Bengali  landowners  from  the  country 
round;  large-eyed  Madrassis  from  the 
south;  pink-turbaned  up-countrymen,  and 
giants  from  beyond  the  hills.  For  she 
kept  open  house. 

Her  friends  called  her  Kela  Bai — Sister 
Banana — because  she  was  sweet  and  ac- 
cessible, as  Ashutosh  Babu,  a  young  Brah- 
man friend  of  hers,  wittily  said;  and  they 
always  responded  liberally  on  her  birth- 
days. Therefore  she  wore  the  prettiest 
Saris  of  fine  white  muslin,  with  edges  of 
red  like  a  Eoman  senator;  lived  in  a  two- 
story  house  of  brick,  and  had  a  great  vari- 
ety of  personal  ornaments. 

Her  two  tire-women  were  still  snoring. 
They  were  wrinkled  and  withered  and  grey, 
for  they  had  belonged  to  a  past  generation. 
Kela  Bai  slipped  over  to  the  couch  of  Moti 
Bibi,  the  greyest  of  them,  turned  back  the 
Kashmir  shawl  that  covered  her,  and  bent 
4 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

her  head  over  the  wrinkled  arm,  as  though 
she  would  kiss  it.  But  she  really  bit  it 
gently  with  her  shining  teeth,  and  Moti 
Bibi  awoke  with  a  howl,  rubbing  her 
frightened  eyes.  Kela  Bai  was  laughing 
at  her. 

"  Monkey's  sister!  "  cried  Moti  Bibi  an- 
grily, rubbing  her  arm.  Then  she  began 
to  laugh,  catching  the  infection  from  Kela 
Bai.  Then  the  two  went  and  upset  Mani 
Bewa's  couch,  and  there  was  a  rustle  and 
a  scrimmage  on  the  floor,  and  Kela  Bai 
escaped  down-stairs,  catching  up  a  fresh 
Sari  as  she  ran.  The  two  tire-women  fol- 
lowed her  more  slowly,  grumbling  and 
laughing;  and  all  three  joined  the  chat- 
tering women  who  were  straggling  towards 
the  lotus-pond  at  the  end  of  the  street. 
Presently  they  were  all  in  the  warm,  green- 
ish water,  dipping  and  splashing,  with 
shrill  chatter  and  many  jests,  women  and 
girls,  boys  and  men,  all  bathing  together. 
Then  Kela  Bai  came  out  to  the  bank,  to 
change  her  wet  garment. 

"  Did  you  hear  about  Moti  Bibi  and  the 
5 


Kela  Bai: 

barber?"  asked  one  woman,  speaking  to 
the  company  in  general. 

"  The  jackals  were  all  through  the 
bazaar  last  night,"  said  another. 

"Yes,  looking  for  Behari  Babu's  girl- 
baby.  The  last  wedding-feast  ruined 
him,"  laughed  a  third. 

"  The  Sub-Inspector  Babu  is  going  to 
get  married  again." 

"Yes,  the  daughter  of  the  Paglapore 
zemindar  this  time." 

"  That  will  make  number  nine." 

"  Krishna  married  more  than  nine  milk- 
maids, then  why  not  the  Sub-Inspector 
Babu?" 

A  general  burst  of  laughter  greeted  this. 
They  disliked  the  Sub-Inspector. 

"  Ashutosh  Babu  says  the  Collector  Sa- 
hib is  coming." 

Everybody  was  interested  now. 

"  Yes,  they  are  pitching  his  tents  in  the 
mango-grove.''5 

"Tents?    How  many?" 

"Two  big  white  tents,  like  Kela  Bai's 
house,  and  a  little  one  for  the  servants." 
6 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

"  Kela  Bai,  why  do  you  not  go  and  pay 
him  a  visit?" 

Kela  Bai  smiled,  showing  all  her  teeth, 
and  everybody  laughed.  The  sun  and  the 
wind  had  dried  her  glossy  skin,  and  she 
began  to  change  her  Sari,  wrapping  the 
dry  one  round  her,  as  she  unwrapped  the 
other,  with  a  series  of  jerks  and  wriggles, 
like  a  serpent  sloughing  its  skin.  She  came 
forth  resplendent  in  fresh  red  and  white, 
having  made  a  complete  renewal  of  her 
apparel,  there  in  the  open  eye  of  day,  so 
skilfully  that  she  had  not  showed  more 
than  one  brown  shoulder.  Mani  Bewa 
picked  up  the  wet  Sari,  after  changing  her 
own;  while  Moti  Bibi  waded  half  across 
the  tank,  beyond  the  bathers,  and  filled 
her  big  brass  jar  with  water.  The  gossip- 
ing crowd  began  to  disperse,  and  Kela  Bai 
tripped  back  over  the  velvet  dust.  Tota 
saw  her  coming. 

"  Kela  Bai,  give  me  a  rupee !  "  he  cried. 
"  Go  to  Gehenna,  monkey's  wife!  " 

Kela  Bai  laughed  a  little.  She  was  not 
the  least  offended.  She  knew  it  was  only 
7 


Kela  Bai: 

his  friendliness.  Sunning  up  the  narrow 
staircase,  she  came  out  on  the  veranda, 
and  made  a  feint  of  boxing  Tota's  ears. 
Then  she  gave  him  a  piece  of  sugar-cane. 
Tota  ducked  under  his  perch,  snapped  at 
her  finger,  and  then  began  to  crunch  the 
sugar-cane,  while  Kela  Bai  rubbed  his 
green  and  scarlet  head.  They  were  the 
best  of  friends,  and  understood  each  other 
perfectly.  Her  circle  said  Tota  was  her 
son,  with  a  green-winged  Musician  of 
Paradise  for  his  father. 

"  Come  in  and  eat  your  rice,  feather- 
headed  grasshopper!"  Moti  Bibi's  shrill 
voice  cried,  within  the  room.  The  three 
were  soon  seated  on  the  floor  beside  their 
leaf-plates  of  boiled  rice,  with  little  heaps 
of  curried  vegetables  on  a  brass  plate  in  the 
middle.  They  threw  the  rice  down  their 
throats,  never  missing  a  grain.  Their 
sordid,  good-natured  gossip  ran  on  pos- 
sible visitors  and  presents.  Tota  shrieked 
an  accompaniment  from  the  veranda. 

"  About  time  for  Shah  Jehan  to  come 
back,"  said  Moti  Bibi. 
8 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

"  Go  to  Paradise,  monkey's  wife!  "  cried 
Tota. 

"Always  good  for  twenty  rupees,"  said 
Mani  Bewa. 

"  Turki  hound !  Son  of  a  swine !  "  from 
the  veranda. 

"Must  tell  Ram  Lai  to  keep  away," 
said  Kela  Bai,  smiling,  and  balancing 
a  little  handful  of  rice  between  her  fin- 
gers. 

"  Monkey's  wife!     Give  me  a  rupee! " 

And  so  it  went  on.  Kela  Bai  found 
Tota  rather  soothing.  When  she  had  fin- 
ished her  rice,  she  held  her  fingers  daintily 
over  a  basin  of  brass,  scrubbed  with  sand 
till  it  was  like  the  sun,  and  Mani  Bewa 
poured  water  over  her  hands  from  the 
brass  jar.  Moti  Bibi  came  behind,  and 
jogged  her  elbow,  and  the  water  spirted 
up  Kela  Bai's  arm.  There  was  a  fight 
between  the  two  old  women,  which  Kela 
Bai  ended  by  knocking  their  heads  to- 
gether, and  then  Moti  Bibi  began  to  pre- 
pare her  mistress's  pipe. 

It  was  a  cocoanut  shell  on  a  silver  tri- 
9 


Kela  Bai: 

pod,  with  a  silver  stem  rising  above  it  like 
a  lily,  and  a  long,  flexible  tube.  Moti  Bibi 
put  fresh  water  in  the  cocoanut  shell,  filled 
the  lily-top  with  black  tobacco,  and  touched 
it  with  an  ember,  while  Kela  Bai  pulled 
gently  at  the  tube,  still  sitting  on  the 
matted  floor.  She  smoked  rather  to  be 
sociable  than  because  she  liked  it.  There 
were  evening-hours  when  the  whole  bazaar 
throbbed  with  the  gurgle  of  hookahs,  and 
the  pungent  smoke  rose  like  incense 
through  the  twilight,  while  the  sacred 
conches  blared  from  the  temples,  like  the 
deep  lowing  of  kine,  and  the  cattle  came 
home,  shuffling  through  the  dust.  Smok- 
ing was  then  almost  a  burnt-offering,  and 
Kela  Bai  joined  with  the  rest.  In  the 
morning,  she  smoked  merely  from  idle- 
ness. It  was  less  trouble  than  any  other 
form  of  mischief.  The  smoke  gurgled 
and  bubbled  through  the  water,  and  a 
blue  wreath  rose  above  the  bowl,  like  a 
bird  hovering  over  a  flower.  Kela  Bai 
blew  seven  smoke-rings,  slowly  counting 
them  aloud,  then  pushed  the  hookah 
10 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

away,  and  proceeded  to  the  serious  matter 
of  her  toilet. 

Her  raven-black  locks  were  coiled  in  the 
Greek  fashion.  She  had  her  tresses  combed 
out,  and  made  shiny  with  fresh  cocoanut 
oil.  Then  she  began  to  stick  all  sorts  of 
filigree  things  into  her  hair,  as  it  was 
coiled  up  again.  An  admiring  silversmith 
brought  them  to  her  on  her  birthdays. 
She  set  them  in  jauntily,  and  smiled  to 
herself  in  the  looking-glass.  That  look- 
ing-glass was  the  one  really  ugly  thing  in 
the  room,  and  her  greatest  treasure.  It 
had  a  yellow  tint,  and  an  embossed  tin 
frame,  and  came  from  the  Belati  shop 
at  the  corner — the  emporium  of  goods 
"  from  over  seas  " :  cheap  glass  lamps,  ugly 
moulded  tumblers,  grass-green  dishes, 
plates  with  purple  flowers.  Kela  Bai 
sometimes  winked  at  herself  in  the  look- 
ing-glass. She  was  the  only  person  in  the 
village  who  possessed  this  accomplishment, 
and  would  never  tell  who  had  taught  her. 

She  finished  the  adornment  of  her  hair 
by  drawing  a  red  line  down  the  parting, 
11 


Kela  Bai: 

towards  her  forehead,  and  then  set  to  work 
on  her  eyebrows.  She  combed  a  furrow 
along  them,  drew  a  black  line  of  collyrium 
down  the  middle  of  the  furrow,  and  then 
combed  the  furrow  back  again.  Then  she 
joined  the  brows  together,  as  ibex-horns 
are  joined  to  make  a  bow,  and  finished  the 
suggestion  by  lengthening  the  outer  ends, 
with  a  turned-up  curve.  She  was  now 
ready  "  to  shoot  swift  arrows  from  Cupid's 
bow,"  as  Kalidasa  says.  Then  she  drew  a 
light  line  along  each  lower  lid,  where 
the  lashes  were  set  in;  then  a  heavier  line, 
where  the  lid  joined  the  cheek. 

"  If  you  desire  happiness,  never  put  col- 
lyrium on  your  upper  lids,"  was  one  of 
her  sayings.  All  this  she  did  every  day, 
and  every  day  enjoyed  it. 

Then  she  took  a  sharp  little  knife,  and 
began  on  her  hands,  finishing  up  her  nails 
with  a  touch  of  pink  henna,  and  then 
beautified  her  toe-nails  in  the  same  way. 
She  had  very  pretty  feet,  with  pink  soles 
and  heels,  and  she  had  never  had  a  slipper 
on  in  her  life.  Yes,  she  had  once,  though. 
12 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

It  was  many  sizes  too  big  for  her,  was  very 
much  turned  up  at  the  toe,  and  embroid- 
ered with  gold  thread  and  coloured  silk, 
and  belonged  to  a  bearded  giant  from 
Cabul.  When  she  slipped  her  bare  foot 
into  it,  he  grew  very  angry,  and  would 
never  put  it  on  again.  She  had  it  still, 
as  a  trophy,  and  always  laughed  to  herself 
when  she  looked  at  it.  But  it  had  cost 
her  the  Cabuli's  friendship. 

Her  hands  were  daintily  shaped,  but  her 
wrists,  like  her  ankles,  were  rather  thick, 
perhaps  only  plump.  She  had  a  very 
pretty  trick  of  opening  her  arms  in  won- 
der, spreading  out  her  hands  with  the  fin- 
gers very  much  bent  back,  and  sticking 
forward  her  pink  palms  like  table-lands. 
She  knew  that  gesture  was  very  becoming. 
Then  a  little  red  on  her  lips — that  should 
have  come  earlier,  but  she  had  forgotten 
it — and  she  turned  to  her  jewel-box. 

First  the  thin  shells  that  fitted  round 
her  ears;  then  an  anxious  debate  between 
two  nose-ornaments — for  it  was  her  birth- 
day, and  she  must  look  her  very  best.  She 
13 


Kela  Bai: 

decided  in  favour  of  the  smaller,  with  two 
turquoises,  which  Shah  Jehan  had  given 
her.  The  turquoises  were  rather  greener 
than  they  should  be,  but  then  the  giver 
might  arrive,  and  he  would  be  pleased  to 
see  her  wearing  it.  Then  rings — three 
or  four  to  every  finger — her  only  touch  of 
ostentation;  then  bracelets,  armlets,  ban- 
gles, of  gold  and  silver,  lacquer  and  glass; 
to-day  she  chose  the  gold  only.  Then  she 
finished  up  with  toe-rings  and  anklets  that 
tinkled  as  she  walked,  and  surveying  her- 
self again  in  the  glass,  with  a  long  look  of 
admiration,  she  winked  slowly  and  seri- 
ously at  her  own  image,  which  winked 
slowly  and  seriously  back  again.  A  final 
touch  to  her  Sari,  a  twitch  here,  a  twist 
there,  a  little  tug,  then  a  wriggle,  till  it 
sat  to  perfection,  and  she  sank  back  happy 
on  her  couch,  calling  to  Moti  Bibi  to  give 
her  the  mouthpiece  of  the  hookah. 

Simple  as  a  Sari  is — skirt  and  bodice  and 
all  the  rest  in  one,  without  a  stitch  of  sew- 
ing— there  are  a  hundred  different  degrees 
of  grace  in  wearing  it.     Kela  Bai  was  in 
14 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

the  nineties.  She  took  six  turns  round 
the  waist,  to  make  the  skirt,  with  a  hitch 
behind,  to  keep  it  firm;  then  she  brought 
the  loose  end  over  her  left  shoulder  from 
behind,  leaving  the  right  arm  bare,  and 
tucking  the  end  in  at  her  waist. 

"Kela  Bai,"  said  Moti  Bibi,  looking 
out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye  at  her  mis- 
tress, who  was  once  more  blowing  smoke- 
rings,  and  counting  them  in  a  low,  happy 
voice,  "  they  say  in  the  bazaar  that  the  half- 
white  woman  Padma  Bai  is  coming  to  buy 
a  house  here." 

Kela  Bai  sat  up  instantly,  drawing  the 
mouthpiece  from  her  lips.  Her  eyes 
flashed,  and  there  was  a  frowning  furrow 
between  her  brows. 

"If  Padma  Bai  comes  to  my  village," 
she  cried  in  a  voice  full  of  suppressed  ex- 
citement, "  I'll  spoil  her  beauty  for  her." 
Then  she  began  to  laugh.  "  But  I  think, 
if  she  comes,  she  will  die  of  starvation." 

"  Kela  Bai,"  said  Mani  Bewa,  "  the  Sub- 
Inspector  Babu  says  he  is  coming  to  pay 
you  a  visit.     What  will  you  do  ?  " 
15 


Kela  Bai: 

"  Stab  him  as  he  comes  into  the  room," 
cried  Kela  Bai,  in  a  passion,  "  or  tie  a 
rope  across  the  stair,  and  let  him  break 
his  neck!  " 

Mani  Bewa  looked  at  Moti  Bibi,  and 
smiled  a  wrinkled  smile.  Moti  Bibi  looked 
at  Mani  Bewa,  and  smiled  back  at  her.  It 
was  part  of  a  game  they  played  on  Kela 
Bai.  She  tyrannized  over  them,  and  they 
revenged  themselves  by  working  her  into 
a  passion.  She  was  looking  towards  the 
doorway,  with  flaming  eyes,  as  if  expect- 
ing her  rival  or  her  enemy,  when  she  heard 
a  faint  chuckle  from  Mani  Bewa,  and  knew 
that  they  had  been  making  fun  of  her 
again.  She  winced  almost  imperceptibly, 
but  showed  no  sign.  Then  she  bent  over 
her  jewel-box,  and  pretended  to  seek  for 
something,  gradually  letting  a  look  of 
anxiety  come  into  her  eyes. 

"My  big  emerald  is  lost!"  she  cried 
suddenly,  in  a  tone  of  despair,  looking 
round  sharply  at  the  two  old  women. 
"  Do  you  know  anything  about  it,  Mani 
Bewa?  do  you,  Moti  Bibi?"  Then 
16 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

her    face    grew    dark    with    well-feigned 
anger. 

"  It  was  here  last  night,"  she  went  on; 
"  no  one  has  been  here  but  you  two.  I  will 
go  to  the  Collector  Sahib,  and  make  com- 
plaint! We  shall  see  if  I  am  to  be  robbed 
in  my  own  house!  "  And  the  little  tyrant 
glared  down  at  her  two  thoroughly  fright- 
ened slaves.  They  grew  greyer  and  more 
wrinkled  with  real  fear,  and  falling  at 
her  feet,  each  confessed  to  the  theft, 
only  begging  for  mercy,  and  praying 
her  not  to  make  complaint,  and  to  spare 
their  aged  misery.  When  she  had  pun- 
ished them  enough,  Kela  Bai  burst  out 
laughing. 

"  So  you  both  stole  it — as  a  present  for 
Padma  Bai  or  the  Sub-Inspector,  I  sup- 
pose— and  that  is  why  it  is  still  safe  in 
the  box.  You  will  certainly  go  to  Ge- 
henna, sisters  of  monkeys!  " 

Tota  had  been  dreaming  on  his  perch, 
and  wandering  in  spirit  through  the  splen- 
did woods  of  parrot-land.    The  voices  wak- 
ened him,  and  he  began  once  more: 
17 


Kela  Bai: 

"Go  to  Gehenna,  monkey's  wife!  Go 
to  Gehenna,  monkey's  wife!  " 

Kela  Bai  was  admiring  herself  in  the 
glass. 

"  Kela  Bai-i-i,  you  are  as  sweet  as  a 
mango!  "  she  said  to  her  image,  and  be- 
gan to  dance  softly  before  it.  She  danced 
the  serpent-curve,  the  peacock-step,  the 
wave  of  Ganga,  and  the  swaying  plantain, 
all  with  much  play  of  eyes  and  neck  and 
wrists  and  waist,  and  with  endless  pretty 
tinklings  of  her  bangles.  Then  she  began 
a  fragment  of  song,  but  broke  off  immedi- 
ately, and  called  from  the  open  window: 

"  Hey,  boy,  son  of  a  wildcat,  bring  round 
my  bullock-carriage!  Quick,  you  door- 
keeper of  Gehenna! " 

Tota  caught  up  the  phrase. 

"  Quick,  you  door-keeper,  go  to  Ge- 
henna! " 

The  bullock-cart  was  soon  creaking  round 
from  the  courtyard.  It  was  lacquered  red, 
with  yellow  pictures  of  many-armed  gods; 
and  drawn  by  two  pensive  little  white  oxen 
with  gilded  horns,  bright  with  red  bunches 
18 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

of  Ashoka  flowers.  The  boy  was  perched 
up  in  front  at  the  tails  of  the  oxen;  he 
kept  a  tail  in  each  hand,  to  twist,  and  to 
steer  by.  He  was  almost  black,  with  big 
hands  and  feet,  and  his  costume  consisted 
of  two  ragged  pieces  of  cotton,  one  round 
his  middle,  the  other  round  his  head.  He 
had  a  wonderfully  sweet  smile,  and  a  won- 
derfully profane  vocabulary,  learned  in 
part  from  Tota,  and  in  part  from  the  two 
grey  old  women,  when  they  had  too  much 
rice  wine,  and  fell  to  telling  ancient  his- 
tories. The  boy's  voice  went  shrilling  up 
at  the  end  of  a  sentence,  like  a  kite's. 

Kela  Bai  and  her  shadows  were  down 
by  this,  armed  with  formidable  musical 
instruments.  That  was  for  the  birthday 
party.  Kela  Bai  climbed  into  the  bullock- 
cart,  and  seated  herself  well  to  the  front. 
She  clashed  her  cymbals  once  or  twice,  to 
see  that  they  were  in  tune,  and  then  drew 
the  edge  of  one  along  the  other,  like  a  wet 
finger  on  a  wine-glass,  and  held  them  up 
behind  her  driver's  head,  as  the  keen  note 
rung  out  from  the  brass. 
19 


Kela  Bai: 

"Holy  Krishna!"  cried  the  boy,  star- 
tled, and  Kela  Bai  printed  him  on  the 
back  with  one  of  the  cymbals,  leaving  a 
ring  on  his  black  skin.  Moti  Bibi  was 
curling  down,  in  the  back  corner,  nursing 
a  crook-backed  fiddle,  which  would  pres- 
ently grumble  forth  strange  melodies. 
Mani  Bewa  incautiously  tried  to  scramble 
in  over  the  back  of  the  cart,  with  the  re- 
sult that  it  nearly  upset  and  lifted  the  lit- 
tle bullocks  off  their  feet.  Kela  Bai 
screamed,  and  clubbed  Mani  Bewa  on  the 
head  with  a  cymbal.  The  old  creature 
presently  climbed  in  over  the  wheel,  a 
long-necked  zither  stretching  over  her 
shoulder.  The  strings  made  a  rustling 
undersong,  like  the  whisper  of  leaves. 
Kela  Bai  sang  a  line  or  two  of  her  newest 
ballad,  and  then  started  forth  to  look  for 
an  audience. 

The  time  for  the  procession  was  well 
chosen.  The  government  clerks  were 
straggling  towards  their  office,  clothed  in 
white,  with  shoes,  but  stockingless,  and 
cackling  like  a  string  of  wild  geese.  They 
20 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

had  white  umbrellas  and  yellow  faces. 
They  noticed  Kela  Bai's  equipage  in  the 
distance,  and  all  began  to  shout  and  wave 
their  umbrellas. 

The  old  men  loafing  about  in  the  open 
shops,  or  on  the  doorsteps — wizened  an- 
cients, whose  grey  hair  had  not  brought 
grace — drew  their  dry  lips  from  the  bub- 
bling hookahs,  and  chuckled  with  an  air 
of  unfathomed  depravity. 

Shabby  old  women  from  outlying  vil- 
lages, with  baskets  of  queer  purple  and 
scarlet  and  yellow  vegetables,  scowled  or 
grinned  at  the  little  bullock-cart,  as  the 
humour  took  them;  and  the  children,  in 
their  naked  innocence,  trotted  and  stag- 
gered to  meet  her.  The  pariah  dogs  snuf- 
fled and  snarled,  with  their  noses  in  the 
dust.  As  the  cart  came  up,  the  small  boy, 
very  excited,  was  twisting  the  tails  of  the 
bullocks  to  make  them  run,  and  shrieking 
genealogies  at  them.  The  clerkly  Babus 
gathered  round  Kela  Bai  in  a  mob,  and 
stopped  her  progress.  It  was: 

"Ho,  Kela  Bai!"  and  "Hey,  Kela 
21 


Kela  Bai: 

Bail"  and  "Kela  Bai,  oh!"  as  they  all 
talked  at  once,  as  loud  as  they  could.  Then 
jests  began  to  detach  themselves  from  the 
general  chatter,  and  the  old  grizzled  men 
and  women  began  to  gather  round  and 
grin. 

"  Kela  Bai,  when  is  Ishak  Khan  coming 
back  from  Cabul?"  "Kela  Bai,  what 
did  landowner  Keshub  give  you  for  your 
last  birthday?"  "Kela  Bai,  did  you  in- 
herit that  nose-ring  from  your  father?" 
This  raised  a  general  laugh.  "  Kela  Bai, 
you  should  cut  your  hair  till  Shah  Jehan 
comes  back!  "  "Kela  Bai,  when  is  Tota's 
brother  coming  ?  "  "  Kela  Bai,  sing  us  a 
song !  "  "  Yes,  Kela  Bai,  a  song,  a  song !  " 
The  birthday  was  a  palpable  success.  She 
wanted  above  all  things  to  be  asked  to  sing. 
A  strange  adventure  had  befallen  her — no 
less  than  a  white  visitor.  She  had  been 
out,  and  her  friends  had  harshly  entreated 
him,  and  sent  him  away  sorrowing.  But 
Kela  Bai  was  touched  by  the  romance 
of  it.  So  she  turned  the  tale  into 
verse : 


,  An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

"Ke-e-e-la  Bai  was  young  and  fair  ! 
E-e-e-e  Kela  Bai-i-i  ! "    .     .     . 

Her  two  slaves  joined  in  the  chorus, 
which  ended  in  a  shrill  note,  sung  through 
the  nose.  They  plied  the  crook-backed 
fiddle  and  the  long-necked  zither  vigor- 
ously, while  she  herself  clashed  the  cym- 
bals. There  was  a  moment's  pause,  broken 
by  gurgling  sounds — the  old  men  had  re- 
turned to  their  hookahs.  Then  Kela  Bai 
lifted  up  her  voice  once  more : 

"  Kela  Bai  was  like  the  sun — 
Oh,  won't  you  come  along  and  take  a  walk  with 

me? 

Kela  Bai  was  bright  as  the  moon — 
E-e-e-e  Kela  Bai-i-i  1 "... 

Chorus,  cymbals,  and  hookahs  as  before. 
She  went  on  to  sing  of  how  Kela  Bai  was 
like  the  rainbow,  the  stars,  the  blossom  of 
the  red  coral-tree,  the  mango  in  spring- 
time, the  rose-lotus,  the  white  egret,  the 
palm-tree;  with  the  same  long-drawn,  lan- 
guorous chorus  after  each  line.  Her  audi- 
ence was  becoming  restive  under  this 


Kela  Bai: 

broadside  of  her  praises,  so  she  hurried  on 
to  the  hero,  leaving  out  many  verses: 

"  Fierce  as  a  lion,  strong  as  a  boar  ! 
E-e-e-e  the  white  man  came  !    .     .     . 
White  as  camphor,  eyes  like  jet, 
Won't  you  come  along  and  take  a  walk  with  me  ? 

"  Snow-pith  helmet,  scarlet  shoes, 
E-e-e-e  the  white  man  came  !     .     .     . 
Rich  and  rare  was  his  coat  of  silk, 
Won't  you  come  along  and  take  a  walk  with  me  ? 

"  Smitten  was  his  heart  by  the  thought  of  me, 
E-e-e-e  by  the  thought  of  me  !     .     .    . 
Stricken  as  the  palm  by  the  elephant, 
Won't  you  come  along  and  take  a  walk  with 
me?"    .    .     . 

By  this  time  the  audience  no  longer 
were  pretending  to  listen.  They  were  dis- 
cussing Kela  Bai's  apparel,  its  wearer,  her 
skill  in  cosmetics,  and  her  natural  parts, 
with  admirable  candour ;  and  there  was 
much  cackling  laughter  from  the  old  men, 
as  if  they  were  looking  back  on  many 
memories. 

When  the  young  men  had  appraised 
34 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

her  from  the  ankles  to  the  elbows,  with 
much  laughter  and  wit,  loudly  applauding 
this  and  the  other  gift,  one  of  them  re- 
marked : 

"  Kela  Bai  has  feathers  as  fine  as  a  pea- 
cock's." 

Another,  on  the  edge  of  the  crowd, 
mimicked  him: 

"  Kela  Bai  has  a  voice  as  fine  as  a  pea- 
cock's, too."  And  they  all  laughed  shrilly 
and  long.  Kela  Bai  was  furious.  She 
had  come  out  full  of  happiness,  ready  to 
delight  them  all  with  her  songs,  and  here 
they  were  mocking  her,  and  saying  un- 
kind things  about  her  voice — and  all  the 
world  was  laughing  at  her,  maliciously  and 
unkindly.  That  was  one  thing  she  could 
not  bear,  and  her  fierce  temper  began  to 
rise,  her  brows  to  draw  together,  and  her 
eyes  to  glow. 

"  The  peacock  has  sung,  we  may  expect 
a  thunderstorm,"  said  the  same  mocking 
voice,  and  the  crowd  applauded  to  the 
echo.  Kela  Bai  broke  out  furiously,  rail- 
ing and  threatening  her  tormentors. 
85 


Kela  Bai: 

She  began  to  curse  them  methodically, 
attributing  their  parentage  to  the  beasts 
that  perish,  calling  down  all  manner  of 
sickness  upon  them,  and  summoning  the 
gods  to  visit  them  with  afflictions,  loss  of 
fame,  fortune,  prosperity,  and  peace.  But 
they  only  laughed  the  more. 

"  The  lady  in  red  has  become  a  doctor 
of  morals!"  said  her  enemy,  quoting  the 
old  Indian  proverb,  and  everyone  shrieked 
with  delight.  Kela  Bai  grew  red  un- 
der her  gold-brown  skin,  and  shook  her 
fist  in  their  faces,  gnashing  her  teeth  in 
powerless  wrath.  When  she  raised  her 
brown  fist,  plump  and  soft  as  a  baby's,  the 
Babus  lifted  their  umbrellas  and  pointed 
them  at  her,  bayonet-wise,  in  derisive  self- 
protection.  She  was  fast  losing  the  last 
vestige  of  control,  in  a  wild  whirlwind  of 
passion,  when  three  Babus  who  were  be- 
hind her  pushed  at  the  back  of  the  little 
bullock-cart,  and  set  it  in  motion.  Others 
in  front  prodded  the  little  white  bullocks 
in  their  tender  ribs  with  their  umbrellas, 
and  the  cavalcade  started  at  a  brisk  trot. 
26 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

The  foremost  of  her  tormentors  put  the 
crown  on  the  insult  by  running  alongside, 
grasping  her  by  the  wrists,  and  banging 
together  the  cymbals  she  held  in  her 
hands,  at  the  same  time  repeating  in  a 
shrill  falsetto: 

"  E-e-e-e  Kela  Bai, 

Won't  you  coine  along  and  take  a  walk  with 
me?"    .     .     . 

The  very  words  of  her  own  song.  The 
crowd  laughed  till  the  tears  came,  and 
Kela  Bai  was  speechless  with  vexation. 
Moti  Bibi  released  her  by  bending  forward 
and  biting  his  elbow,  till  he  shrieked  and 
let  go,  and  the  crowd  turned  and  laughed 
at  him.  Moti  Bibi  got  that  inspiration 
from  her  own  first  experience  of  the  morn- 
ing. Kela  Bai  was  sobbing  now,  with 
sheer  bitterness  of  heart,  as  the  bullocks 
slowed  down,  and  fell  back  into  their  or- 
dinary shuffle.  And  she  would  have 
sobbed  herself  into  a  good  temper  soon, 
but  for  a  new  piece  of  malice  from  her 
enemies. 

27 


Kela  Bai: 

The  street  curved  like  a  bow.  Kela 
Bai's  bullock-cart  was  disappearing  round 
the  curve.  Said  one  of  the  Babus: 

"Let  us  go  ahead  of  her,  and  bring  the 
Sub-Inspector!  She  will  be  glad  to  see 
him!" 

"He  will  dry  her  tears  for  her,"  cried 
another,  and  they  carried  the  proposal  by 
acclamation.  They  cut  across  the  cord  of 
the  bow,  knocked  at  the  Sub-Inspector's 
house,  and  carried  him  along  with  them 
to  the  corner. 

Kela  Bai's  little  cart  was  just  appear- 
ing. Mani  Bewa  and  Moti  Bibi  had  sob- 
bed aloud  in  sympathetic  wrath,  and  their 
devotion  had  soothed  her.  It  would  have 
been  sunshine  in  her  heart  in  a  min- 
ute if  she  had  been  left  alone.  But  the 
crowd  were  only  beginning  to  enjoy  the 
sport  of  baiting  her.  They  gathered  in 
a  group  across  the  road,  with  their  backs 
to  her  advancing  cart,  and  made  as  if  they 
were  talking  earnestly.  The  boy  saw 
them,  and  tried  to  turn  the  cart.  Kela 
Bai,  sitting  behind  him,  did  not  see  them, 
28 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

and  fiercely  ordered  him  to  drive  on — she 
wanted  to  escape  from  the  scene  of  her 
woes.  So  the  bullock-cart  drifted  up  to 
the  line  of  backs  and  then  stopped.  The 
Babus  had  told  the  Sub-Inspector  that  a 
woman,  drunk  and  disorderly,  was  driving 
down  the  bazaar.  They  had  not  mentioned 
her  name,  from  design.  For  there  was  a 
feud  between  Kela  Bai  and  Behari  Babu, 
the  Sub-Inspector.  He  had  claimed  cer- 
tain tithes  and  privileges,  according  to  im- 
memorial custom,  which  she  had  indig- 
nantly refused.  She  hated  him  for  his  air 
of  superior  beauty.  So  when  the  Sub-In- 
spector, dragged  out  rudely  from  his  house 
to  arrest  a  supposed  drunken  woman,  and 
Kela  Bai,  sobbing  with  mortified  vanity, 
recognized  each  other,  they  were  both  in 
a  mood  to  make  trouble,  and  the  trouble 
quickly  came. 

This  was  just  the  chance  the  Sub-In- 
spector had  been  waiting  for,  to  avenge 
the  injury  of  his  slighted  grace.  He  was 
coldly  vindictive,  while  she  was  hot  with 
wrath.  He  had  the  advantage,  for  he 
29 


Kela  Bai: 

could  depend  on  the  witnesses  to  tell  the 
tale  his  way. 

"  Drive  on!  "  cried  Kela  Bai.  "  Make 
way  for  my  bullocks  to  pass!  " 

"What,  you  low-caste  woman?"  said 
the  Sub-Inspector  in  a  cold  voice.  "  What 
talk  is  this  ?  A  Brahman  make  way  for  a 
bullock!  You  must  be  drunk  to  talk  like 
this,  insolent  she-goat! " 

"Drive  on!"  cried  Kela  Bai  again. 
"Drive  over  them!"  as  if  the  two  poor 
little  bullocks  could  bear  down  the  crowd 
like  mailed  elephants. 

"  Well,  pariah  woman,  why  are  you  dis- 
turbing the  street  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer,  for  though  she  had 
resisted  successfully  so  far,  she  knew  that 
there  were  endless  resources  of  tyranny, 
extortion,  and  cruelty  in  his  official  pos- 
ition, and  that  he  was  the  man  to  use  them 
to  the  utmost.  Her  two  women  were  cold 
with  fear.  They  had  stopped  sobbing,  and 
hardly  drew  breath.  Kela  Bai  herself  was 
making  desperate  efforts  to  restrain  her- 
self. The  matter  was  as  serious  as  poss- 
80 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

ible  for  her  now.  The  Sub-Inspector  got 
in  a  third  shot: 

"  You  ugly  demoness,  I  have  had  enough 
of  you.  You  shall  either  send  for  me  to  my 
house  before  sundown,  promising  to  pay 
tribute  according  to  custom,  or  I  shall 
report  the  whole  matter  to  the  Collector 
Sahib  when  he  comes  to  his  tents  this 
evening,  and  you  will  be  sent  to  prison 
for  five  years,  or  even  transported  to  the 
Burning  Islands  for  life." 

When  he  spoke,  the  Babus  all  winced. 
They  hated  to  be  reminded  of  such  mis- 
fortunes, which  might  possibly  overtake 
themselves  some  day,  and  they  dreaded 
to  lose  caste  with  the  Collector  by  being 
mixed  up  as  witnesses  in  a  street  brawl. 
They  heartily  wished  themselves  out  of  it; 
wished  they  had  left  Kela  Bai  atone; 
wished  they  had  not  brought  the  Sub-In- 
spector. A  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling 
ran  over  them,  and  left  them  cold.  As 
for  Kela  Bai,  with  all  her  courage,  she 
shivered  with  fear,  and  her  women  moaned 
in  terror.  They  believed  in  the  terrors 
31 


Kela  Bai: 

they  were  threatened  with,  and  wild  pic- 
tures of  poverty,  destitution,  bondage, 
exile,  and  death  rushed  over  their  hearts. 
They  had  no  way  of  knowing  exactly  how 
great  a  danger  overshadowed  them,  and 
suffered  all  the  horrors  of  the  terrible  un- 
known. 

The  Babus  began  to  pluck  at  the  Sub- 
Inspector's  elbow,  with  a  show  of  familiar- 
ity and  confidence ;  but  he  turned  haugh- 
tily on  them,  saying:  "  Sirs,  give  me  your 
names.  I  shall  want  them  as  witnesses." 
He  was  not  certain  that  he  intended  to 
accuse  her  ;  but  he  was  certain  that  she 
had  slighted  him  and  mocked  him,  and  he 
was  angrily  vindictive. 

Kela  Bai's  spirit  began  to  turn  on  itself, 
as  she  saw  the  cowed  looks  of  her  first  tor- 
mentors. Her  wrath  was  once  more  grow- 
ing to  white  heat.  The  Sub-Inspector 
pushed  the  Babus  out  of  her  path,  and 
showing  his  teeth,  snarled  at  her : 

"Now,  you  ugly  pariah,  go  to  your 
wretched  house.  If  your  messenger  does 
not  come  for  me  before  sundown,  I  report 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

to  the  Collector  Sahib,  and  then — the  An- 
daman Islands  and  exile." 

Then  she  burst  forth  in  magnificent 
wrath : 

"  Son  of  a  pig!  Desecrator  of  temples! 
Murderer  of  babes !  Bribe-eater!  Swine! 
Monkey!  Killer  of  cows!  " 

At  the  last  deadly  insult  the  Sub-In- 
spector cowered  for  a  moment  under  the 
blast  of  her  rage,  and  grew  grey  with  pas- 
sion. Then  he  strode  up  to  her  and  struck 
her  on  the  check  with  the  back  of  his 
hand — the  first  blow  she  had  ever  received 
in  her  life.  She  snapped  at  his  hand  with 
her  white  teeth,  and  was  rising  to  scratch 
his  face,  with  the  prospect  of  an  exceed- 
ingly ugly  row,  when  the  boy  got  his  bul- 
locks started,  by  tremendous  tail-twisting, 
and  the  jerk  sent  Kela  Bai  into  Mani 
Bewa's  arms.  It  showed  the  cowed  spirit 
of  the  crowd,  that  no  one  thought  of  laugh- 
ing at  her  downfall. 

The  storm  was  broken  up,  but  the  rag- 
ing echoes  of  it  went  down  the  street,  as 
Kela  Bai  leant  out  of  her  bullock-cart,  fac- 


Kela  Bai: 

ing  the  Sub-Inspector,  and  pouring  forth 
the  vials  of  her  wrath.  Behari  Babu  stood 
in  the  middle  of  the  street,  speechless  and 
white  at  that  last  insult,  his  hands  clutch- 
ing open  and  shut.  When  she  disappeared 
he  turned  on  his  heel  without  a  word  to 
the  Babus,  and  strode  off  with  his  chin  in 
the  air,  leaving  them  to  depart,  silent, 
crestfallen,  and  bedraggled. 

The  impetus  which  had  carried  the  bul- 
lock-cart forward  soon  wore  itself  out ;  the 
oxen  came  to  a  standstill,  and  with  lowered 
heads  began  to  blow  the  dust  with  their 
nostrils.  The  boy  was  quaking,  with 
parched  lips,  yet  thinking  that  he  would 
stab  the  Sub-Inspector  if  any  harm  came 
to  Kela  Bai,  whom  he  sincerely  loved. 
Moti  Bibi  and  Mani  Bewa  were  abject. 

"Kela  Bai,"  they  wailed,  "send  quick 
for  the  Sub-Inspector.  Say  you  will  obey 
his  orders.  Send  quick,  Kela  Bai!  Do 
what  he  wants.  We  shall  be  ruined, 
starved,  cast  out,  tortured!  " 

In  Kela  Bai  herself  a  fierce  battle  was 
being  fought  between  cold  fear  and  anger. 
34 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

She  had  cause  for  fear.  Her  enemy  was 
a  despot,  and  the  Powers  were  on  his  side. 
He  had  had  women  tortured  in  outlying 
villages  before,  and  kept  the  matter  dark. 
He  had  woven  webs  of  false  accusation, 
and  sent  his  victims  to  prison.  He  levied 
tribute  right  and  left,  under  threat  of 
denunciation.  Then  came  a  wave  of  pas- 
sionate indignation.  She  would  never 
submit,  never  disgrace  herself.  She  would 
defy  him,  be  avenged. 

"  Kela  Bai,  we  are  miserable  old  women! 
We  shall  be  cast  forth  to  starve  and  die 
like  dogs!  Send  for  the  Sub-Inspector!  " 

The  bullocks  still  snuffled  in  the  dust: 
The  boy  still  sharpened  his  knife  in 
thought,  sobbing  softly.  Kela  Bai  saw 
pictures  of  herself  bound,  carried  away, 
tied,  lashed  with  whips,  insulted.  All 
this  her  enemy's  anger  might  mean.  She 
saw  herself  in  dungeons,  behind  bars, 
chained  in  the  dark,  starving.  Worst  of 
all,  set  free  years  later  to  beg,  her  youth 
and  power  all  gone,  wrinkled  and  grey  like 
the  two  old  hags.  Then  anger  flamed  up 
35 


Kela  Bai: 

again.  She  would  die,  but  she  would  not 
submit.  And  with  that  she  burst  out  sob- 
bing. After  a  while  she  grew  quieter,  and 
told  the  boy  to  drive  on  to  the  temple. 
She  needed  counsel  and  the  relief  of  tears. 

They  stopped  at  the  gate  of  the  old  tem- 
ple of  grey  stone.  Kela  Bai  entered  be- 
tween the  worn  and  twisted  pillars  daubed 
with  paint.  The  old  Brahman  in  charge 
was  her  special  friend.  He  used  to  chuck 
her  under  the  chin,  and  teach  her  scraps 
of  Sanskrit.  He  was  plump  and  grey- 
headed, with  a  fat,  good-natured  face,  and 
a  toga  like  a  Roman  augur. 

He  was  really  glad  to  see  her,  and  was 
greatly  astonished  when  she  made  no  re- 
ply to  his  greeting:  "Eh-eh-eh,  my  little 
dear!"  with  a  pinch  on  her  brown  shoul- 
der. Then  he  saw  she  was  in  trouble,  and 
grew  sympathetic  and  concerned  on  the 
instant. 

Kela  Bai  passed  him  without  a  word  in 

the  narrow  cavern-like  entrance,  and  went 

on  to  the  shrine  under  the  dome.     There 

was  a  tray  of  red  dye  there,  a  piece  of  an- 

36 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

cient  brass- work  from  Benares.  She  laid 
her  right  hand  palm  downwards  in  it,  and 
then  struck  her  hand  against  the  wall, 
leaving  a  red  imprint  of  her  palm.  This 
was  the  sign  of  her  visit  to  the  deity. 

The  goddess  was  a  grim,  four-armed 
thing  in  a  well,  with  marigolds  round  her 
neck,  and  flowers  floating  in  the  water 
round  her.  It  was  quiet  and  dark  in  there 
under  the  dome,  and  the  air  was  full  of 
the  prayers  of  countless  generations.  Kela 
Bai  joined  her  palms  together  and  made 
obeisance  to  the  goddess,  who  was,  for  her, 
the  kind  Mother  of  all  living.  She  bowed 
before  the  image,  and  rested  her  head  on 
the  cool  stone  coping  of  the  well.  She 
told  the  Mother  the  story  of  her  persecu- 
tion and  her  present  fears.  Then  the 
great  calm  of  the  place  descended  upon 
her,  and  her  own  little  life  seemed  like  a 
mote  dancing  in  the  sunbeam — light,  tran- 
sitory, insignificant.  And  when  she  had 
rested  there,  her  spirit  began  to  revive, 
with  all  its  rich  endowment  of  original 
sin,  and  her  quick  mind  wove  a  hundred 
37 


Kela  Bai :  An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

stratagems  against  her  enemy,  each  to  give 
way  before  another,  more  ingenious  and 
more  impracticable.  She  kissed  her  hand 
to  the  goddess — a  thing  never  contem- 
plated in  the  rites  of  her  faith — and 
tripped  out  again  through  the  arched  pas- 
sage, slapping  the  old  Brahman  on  the 
shoulder  as  she  ran  past,  and  ducking  as 
he  tried  to  seize  her. 

But  that  gay  mood  was  short-lived.  As 
she  came  forth  into  the  glare  of  day,  Mani 
Bewa  and  Moti  Bibi  were  muttering  to- 
gether, plotting  how  they  might  give  her 
up,  and  so  save  themselves.  So  she  div- 
ined from  their  sullen,  confused  silence 
and  averted  looks.  She  looked  from  them 
to  the  boy.  There  was  boundless  devotion 
in  his  eyes,  but  no  help.  And  her  trouble 
came  over  her  again  like  an  overwhelming 
sea.  She  motioned  to  the  boy  to  go  home- 
wards, and  then  sank  down  in  the  cart  in 
dark  and  utter  misery. 


II 


The  wings  of  night  were  spread  over 
Bengal.  The  moon  poured  white  showers 
through  the  darkness,  silvering  the  rice- 
fields,  that  faded  away  to  dim  infinitudes, 
under  a  pale  blue  veil  of  mist. 

The  Collector's  tents  were  pitched  in  a 
grove  of  mango-trees,  that  stood  ankle- 
deep  in  their  own  shadows.  The  moon- 
light sparkled  on  the  glossy  blackness  of 
the  leaves,  and  fell  in  white  splashes  on 
the  canvas.  Ghostly  figures  of  watchmen 
snored  beside  the  ashes  of  their  fires,  their 
spears  resting  against  the  tree-stems.  A 
stillness  throbbed  over  all. 

Suddenly  the  veil  of  silence  was  rent  in 
pieces.  A  piercing  shriek  came  out  of  the 
mist.  Another  answered  it,  from  far  off, 
then  another.  Then  shriek  followed 
shriek  on  all  sides,  quick,  ear-splitting, 
horrible,  full  of  tortured  and  tormented 


Kela  Bai: 

wailing.  The  air  was  shattered  into  short 
waves  of  terror,  that  changed  slowly  into 
mocking  laughter,  and  then  vanished  in 
sudden  silence.  The  jackals  were  gathering 
in  the  rice-fields. 

The  moon  looked  down  upon  the  night, 
and  upon  the  tents  of  the  Collector  Sahib 
among  the  mango-trees;  she  even  peeped 
within  the  tent,  and  smiled  an  inscrutable 
Eastern  smile.  Outside  it  was  cold  enough, 
and  the  coats  of  the  jackals  were  wet  with 
dew.  But  the  Collector  Sahib,  within  the 
double  shelter  of  his  tent,  did  not  feel 
cold.  He  sat  on  his  camp-bed  with  his 
feet  tucked  up,  feeling  oppressively  hot; 
he  was  thoroughly  down-hearted  and 
wretched,  without  any  palpable  cause 
whatever.  The  mosquito  curtain  let  down 
round  his  bed  seemed  a  cloud  of  black 
melancholy,  instead  of  white  gauze.  The 
figured  brown  lining  of  the  inner  tent 
looked  dull  and  dispiriting.  The  lamp 
seemed  to  radiate  heat  on  his  hot  back, 
and  the  whirring  wings  of  the  fans  in  its 
draught-chamber  tormented  him. 
40 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

He  was  dressed  in  a  Jaeger  vest  and 
hose,  for  coolness,  and  his  feet  were  bare. 
Yet  he  was  heated,  red-faced,  and  discon- 
solate. He  felt  like  a  little  child  left  alone 
in  the  dark;  he  felt  as  if  all  his  friends 
were  dead,  and  as  if  he  hated  everybody. 
The  Collector  tried  to  find  comfort  in  his 
forlornness  by  reminding  himself  how 
great  a  man  he  was,  and  how  high  up  in 
the  Service.  He  told  himself  how  near  his 
pension  was,  supposing  he  resisted  the 
temptation  of  further  honours,  sure  to  be 
pressed  on  so  distinguished  a  Civilian.  He 
made  a  great  show  of  remembering  these 
things,  but  it  was  unavailing.  Desolation 
was  heavy  upon  him,  and  jackal-voices 
were  howling  in  his  heart. 

He  tried  to  think  of  his  mother,  and  of 
the  consolations  of  religion,  and  of  his  soul ; 
but  only  to  decide  that  it  would  probably 
not  be  saved,  and  that  he  no  longer  cared. 
He  felt  utterly  deserted  and  alone,  with 
that  ghostly  world  of  chill  mist  all  about 
him,  where  the  jackals  howled,  in  the  dim 
and  gruesome  vastness  of  the  night. 
41 


Kela  Bai: 

When  ghosts  had  been  pulling  at  his 
hair  for  abject  ages,  he  started  suddenly, 
full  of  apprehension.  His  ear  had  caught 
a  quick  rustling  at  the  door  of  his  tent, 
like  a  snake  turning  among  pebbles,  or  a 
leopard  brushing  between  the  sheaths  of 
the  sugar-canes.  Humanly  speaking,  the 
Collector  was  a  brave  man.  He  had  killed 
innumerable  cobras,  and  sent  home  many 
spangled  leopard-skins.  Yet  at  that  mid- 
night sound  he  felt  the  hair  stirring  on 
his  head,  and  his  face  grew  rigid  with 
fright. 

Again  the  door-hanging  rustled.  Then 
it  twitched  suddenly  aside,  and  a  dim  fig- 
ure slid  into  the  tent.  In  his  misery,  the 
Collector  had  sat  staring  at  the  lamp  till 
his  eyes  were  full  of  green  flames.  At  first 
he  could  distinguish  nothing.  Then  two 
gleaming  eyes  appeared,  and  then  the  head 
and  shoulders  of  a  girl;  the  flames  faded, 
and  he  saw  her  plainly.  She  was  lithe 
and  supple,  and  finely  moulded.  Her 
breath  was  coming  hard,  she  was  almost 
panting,  in  mixed  excitement  and  fear. 
42 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

She  still  clutched  the  door-hanging  in  her 
left  hand,  and  her  big,  gleaming  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  Collector's  face  as  he  sat  there 
speechless.  His  midnight  visitor  was  Kela 
Bai. 

Very  alluring  she  was,  and  comely;  with 
rounded  curves,  sleek  hair,  glossy  skin, 
small  hands,  and  bare  feet.  The  thin 
muslin  Sari,  bordered  with  red,  fell  in 
soft  folds  about  her  body.  Her  lips  were 
just  parted,  as  she  leant  slightly  forward 
gazing  at  him,  and  a  warmth  and  vigour 
radiated  from  her  which  came  between  the 
Collector  and  his  thoughts. 

"If  she  would  look  away  for  a  mo- 
ment," he  thought,  "I  could  pull  myself 
together."  Then,  half -unconsciously,  he 
began  : 

"  When  a  man's  afraid,  a  beautiful  maid 
Is  a  cheering  sight  to  see,     .     .     ." 

in  a  low,  colourless  voice,  and  then  stopped. 

Kela  Bai  started  at  the  words,  and  said : 
"  Sahib!  "  and  she,  too,  stopped  dead. 

Without  willing  it,  her  eyes  were  staring 
43 


Kela  Bai: 

him  out  of  countenance,  like  the  eyes  of  a 
child.  But  she  was  unconscious  of  his 
trouble.  She  had  not  come  to  herself  yet, 
though  her  fear  was  rapidly  changing  into 
wonder.  It  had  cost  her  a  desperate  effort 
to  determine  on  this  invasion,  and  a  des- 
perate effort  to  carry  it  out  when  deter- 
mined on.  She  was  still  quivering  with 
the  strain  of  her  resolve.  With  dread  and 
imminent  persecution  hanging  over  her, 
she  had  come  to  make  a  last  wild  struggle 
on  her  own  behalf,  to  use  tears,  entreaties, 
supplications,  even  undue  influence  if 
need  were,  if  by  any  means  she  might  en- 
list the  Collector's  sympathies  on  her  side. 
For  she  had  defied  her  enemy,  barring  her 
door  against  him  as  soon  as  she  returned, 
and  only  taking  down  the  barrier  half  an 
hour  ago,  when  the  moon  was  riding  high 
through  the  purple  night.  She  knew  him 
well  enough  to  be  sure  that  he  would  keep 
his  word,  and  make  complaint  against  her; 
knew  his  ways  well  enough  to  know  that 
the  accusation  would  grow  as  big  as  mount- 
ains under  the  pressure  of  his  hate.  And 
44 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

she  guessed,  rightly,  that  the  dread  indict- 
ment was  already  in  the  Collector's  keep- 
ing- 
She  had  strained  her  will  to  keep  from 
thinking  of  her  danger  as  she  stole  down 
the  sleeping  street,  past  the  lotus-pond 
where  the  toads  were  muttering,  and  down 
the  pathway  through  the  ghostly  rice- 
fields.  Twice  a  jackal  had  started  up  un- 
der her  very  feet,  and  she  felt  her  side 
throb  yet,  from  the  frightened  beating 
of  her  heart.  She  had  crouched  long  in 
the  deep  trench  round  the  mango-grove, 
watching  the  sentries,  and  fearing  that 
they  were  watching  her.  But  a  long  snore 
from  one  of  them  had  vastly  relieved  her, 
and  then  she  saw  that  their  fires  were  out. 
Even  then  her  dangers  were  not  over,  for 
the  Collector's  horses  had  snorted  :  she 
feared  the  grooms  would  wake,  and  she  had 
actually  stepped  over  the  body  of  the  or- 
derly who  was  sleeping  in  the  veranda  of 
the  tent.  That  was  at  the  moment  when 
the  Collector  Sahib  first  heard  the  rustling 
at  the  door.  In  the  long,  tearful  watches 
45 


Kela  Bai: 

of  the  hot  afternoon,  and  through  the  fall- 
ing shades  of  evening,  when  she  was  vibrat- 
ing between  anger  and  fear,  and  contempt 
for  her  spiritless  old  women  whom  she 
had  terrified  into  sullen  silence,  she  had 
worked  out  an  imagined  plan  of  how  she 
would  proceed  to  supplicate  the  Great 
White  Lord,  if  haply  she  might  steal  to  the 
tent  unseen.  She  would  bravely  enter  the 
tent — so  far  she  had  realized  her  plan — 
then  she  would  come  up  as  close  as  poss- 
ible to  the  Collector,  fall  at  his  feet  in 
tears,  and  clasp  his  knees.  After  a  while 
she  would  gather  courage  to  sob  forth  her 
tale  of  woe,  and,  weeping,  beg  him  to  help 
her  against  her  enemy,  or  to  kill  her  on 
the  spot.  In  either  event  she  would  escape 
from  the  horrible  overhanging  shadow. 

But  all  this  seemed  quite  incongruous 
in  presence  of  the  sad,  red-faced  man  sit- 
ting there  under  the  mosquito-net,  blink- 
ing at  her,  and  muttering  words  she  did 
not  understand.  She  had  thought  of  him 
as  a  Mighty  Conqueror,  one  of  the  rulers 
of  the  land,  ferocious  and  masterful,  yet 
46 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

with  one  tender  spot  amid  BO  much  fierce- 
ness. For  her  intuition  told  her  that,  in 
some  things,  all  men  are  very  much  alike. 

Her  mind  groped  round  for  something 
to  hold,  so  unexpected  was  it  all.  She 
was  quite  disconcerted.  She  stood  there, 
breathing  hard  in  her  excitement  and 
quickly  vanishing  fear,  still  grasping  the 
door-hanging  in  her  left  hand. 

The  Collector  Sahib  thought  of  Marcus 
Aurelius  and  of  Don  Juan,  but  did  not  feel 
quite  equal  to  either  r61e.  He  watched 
her  bright  eyes,  wistful  with  weeping,  the 
play  of  the  lamplight  over  her  pretty 
body,  her  right  foot  brushing  to  and  fro 
over  the  carpet,  and  the  silver  bangle  flash- 
ing white  on  her  brown  ankle.  He  vividly 
realized  that  here  was  an  attempt  to  influ- 
ence the  majesty  of  the  law,  and  his  eye 
wandered  along  the  red  border  of  her  Sari. 
At  the  very  least,  it  was  a  piece  of  quite 
unwarrantable  trespass,  at  midnight,  in  a 
lonely  spot,  in  the  tent  of  a  high  official 
and  father  of  a  family.  He  knew  that  it 
was  his  bounden  duty  to  call  the  orderly, 
47 


Kela  Bai: 

and  have  her  instantly  arrested,  or  at  least 
ejected  without  a  moment's  delay.  Yet 
an  inner  voice  told  him  that  the  orderly 
would  sleep  in  peace,  that  the  sentinels 
would  snore  beside  their  burned-out  watch- 
fires,  while  the  jackals  tripped  in  and  out 
among  the  tent-ropes. 

He  knew  what  arts  she  trusted  in,  to 
win  his  advocacy,  and  this  was  a  reason 
doubly  strong  for  awaking  the  orderly, 
and  asserting  the  majesty  of  the  law.  But 
he  felt,  with  almost  ludicrous  clearness, 
that  while  those  bright,  wistful  eyes  held 
him,  he  had  no  power  either  to  haughtily 
rebuke  attempted  bribery  or  to  hold  out 
a  depraved  hand  for  the  bribe.  He  was 
whimsically,  almost  pathetically,  conscious 
of  the  meaning  of  her  wondering  gaze, 
and  felt  a  certain  guilt  at  disappointing 
her.  For  at  the  moment  he  was  hardly 
the  fierce  and  masterful  White  Man  of  her 
dreams.  So  there  was  nothing  left  for 
him  but  to  sit  there  and  wait  for  Kela 
Bai. 

She  had  almost  completely  recovered 
48 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

from  her  first  fright  and  trepidation.  As 
the  strain  wore  off  her  nerves,  she  drew  a 
long  sigh.  At  the  sound  of  it  the  Col- 
lector started,  for  his  nerves  also  had  been 
badly  strained.  That  made  her  smile,  like 
a  sudden  ray  of  sunlight  in  her  witchery. 
The  Collector  smiled  shyly  in  return, 
rather  unconsciously  imitating  her,  than 
freely  on  his  own  account.  But  even  that 
stiff  and  rather  unnatural  smile  was  enough 
to  break  the  charm  that  held  her  motion- 
less— the  charm  of  extreme  bewilderment 
and  surprise.  She  let  go  the  door-hang- 
ing, stepped  forward  into  the  circle  of 
light,  and  her  original  intention  asserted 
itself. 

With  a  swift,  light  step — "  like  a  black 
leopard,"  the  Collector  was  conscious  of 
saying  to  himself — she  crossed  the  space 
between  the  tent-door  and  the  mosquito- 
curtain,  lifted  the  folds  of  white  gauze  in 
her  left  hand,  and  curved  her  right  arm 
round  the  Collector  Sahib's  red,  warm 
neck.  Even  this  was  a  change  of  her  first- 
conceived  strategy,  for,  without  being  con- 
49 


Kela  Bai: 

scious  of  it,  she  felt  how  out  of  place  it 
would  be  to  fall  at  this  shy,  fat  man's  feet. 

For  his  part,  he  prayed  for  courage  to 
put  his  arm  round  her  waist.  But  the 
courage  did  not  come.  So  he  sat  with 
downcast  eyes,  watching  his  ankles,  feel- 
ing his  breath  come  and  go,  and  keenly 
conscious  of  the  oddity  of  his  position. 
In  a  moment  he  was  smiling,  but  this 
time  on  his  own  account. 

Kela  Bai  saw  the  smile  and  gave  him  an 
encouraging  little  pat  on  the  shoulder — he 
had  been  thinking  how  nice  and  cool  her 
arm  was,  round  his  neck.  As  she  patted 
him,  the  weight  and  burden  of  her  errand 
seemed  to  fall  instantly  from  her  shoul- 
ders. She  forgot  altogether  why  she  had 
come.  Her  eyes  had  been  wandering 
round  the  tent,  resting  for  a  moment  on 
this  object  and  on  that,  and  now  she 
caught  up  the  fold  of  the  mosquito-cur- 
tain, and  went  out  again  from  under  it 
with  the  same  swift  gesture. 

The  Collector's  arm  faintly  sketched  a 
motion  of  holding  her  close  to  him,  but  it 
50 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

was  left  unfinished,  and  his  hand  dropped 
on  his  knee. 

"Temptations  of  Saint  Anthony,"  he 
said  softly  to  himself,  "  but  which  of  us  is 
the  saint  ?  "  Then  he  smiled  again.  Kela 
Bai  was  moving  rapidly  about  the  tent, 
touching  his  chairs,  his  tables,  the  hang- 
ings, his  boxes.  She  turned  quickly  as  he 
spoke  and  asked : 

"What  does  the  Sahib  say?"  caught 
his  smile,  smiled  back  again  at  him,  and 
then  turned  away  without  waiting  for  an 
answer.  The  riding-suit  which  he  had 
taken  off  hung  across  the  back  of  a  chair. 
She  peered  at  the  bags  curiously,  took 
them  up  with  a  quick  motion  by  the  two 
back  buttons,  and  held  them  for  a  mo- 
ment aloft.  Then  turning  them  round  in 
her  left  hand,  she  made  as  if  to  spank  the 
seat  of  the  trousers  with  her  right.  They 
were  very  baggy,  like  a  caricature  of  the 
already  portly  form  of  the  Collector  Sahib. 
She  smiled  a  flashing  smile  back  at  him 
over  her  shoulder,  and  her  teeth  gleamed 
between  her  red  lips.  Even  then,  through 
51 


Kela  Bai: 

her  gaiety,  lie  noticed  the  hollow  rings 
round  her  eyes,  the  traces  of  many  tears. 
He  asked  himself : 

"  Why  do  I  not  find  out  what  she  has 
come  for  ?  Not  to  spank  my  riding-bags, 
I  expect."  But  he  got  no  answer. 

The  lamp  now  caught  Kela  Bai's  atten- 
tion. She  was  interested,  because  she  had 
recently  bought  a  glass  one  from  the  Belati 
store,  and  was  mentally  comparing  her 
purchase  with  his.  She  quickly  dropped 
the  trousers,  which  fell  in  an  unregarded 
heap  on  the  carpet,  and  bent  her  head  to 
listen  to  the  whirring  fans  within  the 
lamp's  brass  stem.  Her  lamp  was  not 
like  that,  and  she  did  not  understand  it. 
A  sudden  click  among  the  wheels,  as  she 
bent  her  ear  down  low,  made  her  start  vio- 
lently and  press  her  hand  to  her  heart,  so 
unexpected  was  it,  and  so  absorbed  had 
she  been.  In  a  moment  the  Collector 
Sahib  found  himself  standing  beside  her, 
reassuring  her,  and  explaining  the  mach- 
inery. He  said  it  was  better  to  have  a 
fan  in  the  stem,  to  make  the  draught,  be- 
52 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

cause  if  you  had  a  chimney,  especially  in 
camp,  flies  would  get  into  it  and  choke 
the  flame.  He  felt  that  he  was  carefully 
picking  his  words,  like  a  nervous  orator, 
and  at  the  same  time  he  was  trying  to  get 
as  close  to  her  as  possible. 

He  lifted  the  lamp  to  show  her  how  to 
wind  it,  but  her  thoughts  were  already 
elsewhere.  He  noticed  it  instantly,  and 
was  as  abashed  as  if  a  duchess  had  snubbed 
him.  He  set  the  lamp  down  softly,  and 
slipped  back  under  the  mosquito-curtain, 
trying  to  carry  the  matter  off  by  humming 
a  tune,  but  immediately  noticed  that  he 
had  lost  the  air,  and  subsided  into  silence. 
He  felt  like  a  scolded  schoolboy,  and  an 
echo  of  his  loneliness  came  back  to  him,  but 
this  time  with  a  tinge  of  personal  affront. 

He  watched  her  for  a  while  as  if  she  had 
been  a  hundred  miles  away,  and  did  not 
concern  him  in  the  least.  She  had  been 
going  through  his  neckties,  and  was  now 
trying  on  his  pith  helmet  at  the  looking- 
glass,  quite  forgetful,  if  the  truth  be  told, 
of  the  good  man's  presence,  and  wholly 
53 


Kela  Bai: 

absorbed  in  her  novel  occupation.  She 
had  never  worn  a  hat  of  any  kind  in  all 
her  life,  and  she  was  enjoying  her  first  ex- 
perience greatly.  Then  she  suddenly  re- 
membered her  first  and  only  attempt  at 
footwear,  and  the  hot  wrath  of  the  Cabuli, 
and  turned  towards  the  Collector  Sahib 
with  quick  apprehension.  But  his  proud 
aloofness  reassured  her,  and  she  set  the 
pith  helmet  firmly  on  her  head,  though  a 
little  on  one  side.  Then  she  kissed  her 
hand  to  herself  in  the  looking-glass,  and 
danced  a  step  or  two  before  it,  as  she  had 
done  in  the  morning  that  was  so  long  ago. 
There  was  something  very  droll  and  win- 
ning in  her  little  by-play.  She  looked  for 
all  the  world  like  a  big  mushroom,  in  her 
white  drapery,  with  the  broad  pith  helmet 
on  her  head.  And  she  was  evidently  so 
full  of  her  pleasure  that  the  Collector 
found  himself  entering  into  her  feelings, 
and  following  every  shade  of  her  changing 
fancy.  His  head  even  moved  a  little  in 
time  with  her  dancing. 

Now  she  grew  tired  of  the  helmet,  and 
54 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

set  it  down  with  a  quick  gesture  beside 
the  riding  things  on  the  floor.  Then  she 
knelt  down  suddenly,  just  outside  the 
mosquito-curtain,  to  inspect  the  spurs  on 
his  riding-boots.  She  was  very  close  to 
him  now,  and  well  within  the  lamplight, 
and  a  brown  arm  and  shoulder  were  clear 
of  her  Sari.  A  warm  breath  from  her  body 
reached  him,  mixed  with  a  faint  scent  of 
cocoanut  oil.  The  Collector  felt  himself 
drifting.  And  he  felt  braver,  now.  Pink 
lights  flashed  before  his  eyes. 

She  suddenly  looked  up  with  a  childlike 
smile,  full  into  his  eyes.  She  had  thrust 
her  bare  arms  down  into  his  boots,  as  child- 
ren sometimes  do  when  they  are  playing 
quadruped,  and  had  looked  up  for  his  ap- 
probation, just  like  a  child.  The  contrast 
between  the  expression  of  his  eyes  and 
what  she  had  expected  jarred  her  like  a 
dash  of  cold  water.  A  veil  of  disappoint- 
ment fell  over  her  face,  and  the  hurt  to 
her  confidence  took  all  the  light  out  of 
her  eyes.  She  became  suddenly  downcast, 
and  her  lips  trembled. 
55 


Kela  Bai: 

The  Collector,  following  every  shade  of 
feeling,  saw  it,  and  made  a  desperate  effort. 
He  struggled  painfully  ashore,  this  side  of 
the  waterfall,  and  the  flashes  of  pink  light, 
that  had  flared  up  as  she  knelt  so  close  to 
him,  flickered  and  sank,  and  then  died 
out  altogether. 

"I  sympathize  with  old  Saint  Anthony !  " 
he  muttered,  shaking  himself. 

His  eyes  showed  the  change,  and  Kela 
Bai  felt  it  at  once.  But  she  pulled  her 
hands  out  of  the  boots,  and  stood  up,  a 
good  deal  sobered,  and  her  eyes  wandered 
aimlessly  round  the  tent.  Things  did  not 
interest  her  any  more. 

However,  Kela  Bai's  buoyant  fancy  soon 
got  the  better  of  her  shock.  In  a  moment 
she  was  looking  at  the  Collector's  despatch- 
box,  which  held  the  records  of  various 
land-cases  he  had  in  hand,  with  revenue 
disputes,  police  reports,  draft  memoranda 
for  the  Lieutenant- Govern  or,  a  scheme  for 
a  new  jail,  and  much  more  of  the  same 
Borfc.  The  key  was  in  the  box,  and  his 
rank,  and  the  name  of  his  district,  were 
56 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

painted  in  white  letters  on  the  lid.  It 
was  a  japanned  embodiment  of  the  British- 
Indian  Government. 

Kela  Bai  at  once  recognized  its  official 
and  formal  air.  And  that  stirred  up  an 
old  curiosity  within  her.  Her  friends,  as 
has  been  told,  came  from  all  over  India. 
Or,  to  put  it  in  another  way,  all  wanderers 
naturally  found  their  way  to  her  hospit- 
able home.  They  told  her  strange,  fasci- 
nating tales  of  the  bigness  and  mystery  of 
the  land,  of  wide  rivers  and  monstrous 
alligators  ;  of  hills  crowned  with  haunted 
forts,  where  dead  men  challenged  each 
other,  keeping  sentry  ;  of  green  jungles, 
where  peacocks  flashed  shrieking  by,  like 
winged  rainbows ;  of  remote  upland  val- 
leys, with  cave-temples,  full  of  the  ghosts 
of  bygone  seers  ;  of  white  beaches,  where 
the  surf  thundered  along,  with  a  fringe  of 
moonlight  on  the  crest  of  every  wave  ;  of 
walled  cities,  with  many-coloured  throngs, 
great  rich  men  in  golden  carriages,  and 
gorgeous  warriors,  and  elephant-riding 
kings  ;  of  red  plains,  where  the  gazelles 
57 


Kela  Bai: 

tripped  and  trotted  ;  of  vast  marshes, 
where  buffaloes  sulked  among  the  reeds  ; 
of  night-haunting  tigers  and  sprites  and 
demons,  and  shapeless  aboriginal  gods  ;  of 
infinite  hills  and  dales,  inhabited  by  ten 
millions  and  ten  millions  of  many-coloured 
people,  like  the  Bengali  Babus  whom  she 
hated,  and  large-eyed  Madrassis,  and  fero- 
cious Cabulis,  and  wily  Kashmiris,  and 
also  by  dainty,  dear  creatures  like  herself. 
And  she  also  knew  that  all  this  wonder- 
land, in  its  bigness  and  wildness,  was, 
from  the  wrath  of  the  gods  and  of  the 
Brahmans,  ruled  by  white  people,  very 
august  and  terrible.  And  times  and 
again  she  had  dimly  wondered,  in  that 
pretty  head  of  hers,  how  it  was  all  done. 

She  had  an  intuition  that  the  secret  of 
it  all  was  somehow  hidden  in  that  square 
tin  box,  painted  black  and  lettered  in 
white;  perhaps  in  the  form  of  some  strange 
amulet,  or  Tantrik  device,  or  a  djinn  such 
as  the  fisherman  found  in  the  leaden  casket, 
though  she  had  never  quite  believed  that 
story.  She  was  right,  but  she  would 
58 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

hardly  have  recognized  that  amulet  in 
those  bundles  of  paper,  with  their  red 
waist-bands  of  tape. 

The  awesome  ness  of  her  position,  in  ven- 
turing near  such  supernatural  powers, 
struck  her  suddenly,  and  the  Collector 
Sahib  regained  some  of  his  lost  prestige. 
She  looked  up  at  him  timidly,  yet  full  of 
simmering  curiosity,  for  countenance  and 
protection,  and  asked  in  a  low,  winning 
voice : 

"  May  I  look  inside  ?" 

The  Collector  Sahib  was  still  under  the 
influence  of  the  previous  silence.  He  only 
nodded,  without  speaking. 

Kela  Bai  turned  the  key  and  lifted  the 
lid  of  the  despatch-box  cautiously,  as  if 
half-expecting  that  djinn  to  ooze  forth  in 
smoke:  some  red-eyed  demon,  or,  at  the 
very  least,  a  squeaking  ghost.  Then,  with 
one  of  those  sudden,  resolute  gestures  so 
characteristic  of  her,  she  threw  the  lid 
back,  and  let  the  lamplight  pour  in 
among  the  papers.  By  this  time  the  Col- 
lector was  thoroughly  absorbed  in  watch- 
59 


Kela  Bai: 

ing  her,  wondering  what  she  would  do 
next.  With  quite  unconscious  sympathy 
he  was  following  every  shade  of  her 
feelings,  and  looking  at  those  familiar 
things  through  her  wide,  wondering 
eyes. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  coin  lying  in 
the  despatch-box:  scores  of  silver  rupees 
thrown  in  loose,  and  wandering  about  in 
admired  confusion.  The  gleam  of  the 
white  metal  caught  her  eye  at  once.  She 
began  to  hunt  them  out,  chasing  them  into 
the  corners  of  the  box,  as  she  chased  the 
silver  fish  in  the  tank  among  the  lotus- 
leaves.  She  captured  them  all  at  last,  and 
set  them  up  in  little  piles  of  ten,  as  she 
had  seen  the  Kashmiri  merchants  do,  on 
the  camp  table  where  the  box  was  stand- 
ing. When  she  had  got  up  to  thirty  little 
heaps  of  ten,  she  looked  up  at  the  Col- 
lector in  sincere  admiration. 

"  So  much  money  ?  "  she  said,  smiling, 
and  showing  her  teeth. 

The  Collector  Sahib  had  a  fine  sense  of 
humour  hidden  away  in  him.  A  gleam  of 
60 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

mischief  lit  up  his  eyes,  for  all  the  world 
like  her  own. 

"My  dear,"  he  said,  "that  is  a  mere 
trifle.  You  know  that  I  am  called  the 
'  Collector '  Sahib  ?  Which  means  that  my 
business  is  to  collect.  I  have  come  here  to 
collect.  We  are  all  here  to  collect — and 
to  collect  as  much  as  ever  we  can.  That 
is  why  they  entitle  us  Collectors,  and  Dep- 
uty Collectors,  and  Assistant  Collectors, 
and  Acting  Collectors.  We  all  collect. 
The  whole  British-Indian  Government  col- 
lects. That  is  what  it  exists  for — and  we 
collect — to  pay  the  Collectors.  Delight- 
fully simple  !  The  whole  theory  of  the 
state  in  a  nutshell.  My  dear,  you  never 
before  realized  what  a  beneficent  govern- 
ment you  lived  under,  but  you  must  prom- 
ise never  to  tell  what  I  have  told  you.  It 
is  a  secret  between  ourselves!  " 

Not  much  danger  of  her  telling,  for  she 
had  not  understood  a  word.  The  oration, 
however,  considerably  overawed  her,  and, 
for  the  moment,  the  Collector  Sahib  was 
evidently  the  dominant  power.  At  first 
61 


Kela  Bai: 

her  sudden  apparition,  on  the  top  of  his 
strange  loneliness,  had  demoralized  him; 
then  the  battle  between  Don  Juan  and 
Saint  Anthony  had  paralyzed  his  activity. 
But  now  the  Saint  was  strong  again,  and 
triumphing  in  his  victory. 

Kela  Bai  was  idly  turning  over  the  pap- 
ers in  the  box,  and  catching  a  line  here 
and  there;  for,  unlike  most  of  her  country- 
women, she  had  learned  to  read.  And 
many  of  the  papers  were  in  her  own 
tongue.  Suddenly  she  stopped  at  one  of 
them,  on  yellow  paper,  and  drew  a  quick, 
gasping  breath,  and  began  to  read  very 
tremulously  and  very  slowly,  pressing  her 
hand  against  her  heart.  It  was  a  police 
report,  written  by  her  enemy,  the  Sub-In- 
spector, and  setting  forth  complaint  against 
one  Kela  Bai,  of  Belgaun  village,  a  known 
disorderly  character,  who  had  caused  a  riot 
in  the  village  of  Belgaun,  in  which  three 
men  had  been  dangerously  wounded  at  her 
instigation,  two  shops  sacked,  one  cart 
overturned,  and  so  forth  and  so  forth, 
names  of  witnesses,  signed  and  counter- 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

signed.  For  the  Sub-Inspector  had  been 
working  up  the  case,  and  had  a  fine  sense 
of  what  a  complaint  ought  to  be.  As  it 
stood,  she  was  liable  to  two  years'  impris- 
onment with  hard  labor.  He  had  wanted 
to  include  manslaughter,  but  his  nerve  had 
failed,  so  he  had  contented  himself  with  a 
simple  cutting  affray.  Even  then  it  looked 
terribly  black  and  menacing. 

As  she  read,  she  grew  more  and  more 
alarmed.  Her  cheeks  grew  cold,  and  all 
animation  died  out  of  her  eyes,  leaving 
only  dull  fear.  She  was  back  once  more 
at  the  starting-point  of  her  emotions, 
plunged  suddenly  into  rude  reality.  She 
unconsciously  fell  into  the  train  of  action 
she  had  first  planned.  She  threw  herself  at 
the  Collector's  feet,  crying  in  good  earnest, 
and  thinking  far  more  of  prison-bars  than 
of  the  wiles  she  was  to  use  to  escape  them. 

The  Collector  found  himself  stroking 
her  head,  and  using  all  his  arts  to  console 
her.  He  rubbed  her  cheek,  and  spoke 
soothingly  to  her,  in  a  caressing  voice. 
Then  she  began  to  sob  aloud : 
63 


Kela  Bai: 

"Collector  Sahib!  Protector  of  the 
poor  !  Incarnation  of  virtue  !  My  pet- 
ition is  this.  I  am  a  poor  orphan. "  The 
words  of  the  speech  she  had  prepared  were 
coming  back  to  her. 

Then  she  suddenly  realized  his  hand 
against  her  cheek,  stopped  sobbing,  and 
looked  up  at  the  Collector  Sahib  through 
her  tears.  He  was  smiling  at  her — a  good- 
natured,  fatherly  smile,  and  she  felt  won- 
derfully reassured  and  comforted.  The 
Collector  would  never  have  confessed  it, 
but  a  good  deal  of  the  glow  of  that  smile 
came  from  the  sense  that  he  had  the  upper 
hand,  and  was  paying  her  off  for  that  mas- 
terful stare  which  had  so  discomposed  him 
on  her  first  arrival. 

A  feeling  of  restf ulness  and  assuagement 
caine  over  her.  She  was  glad  now  that  she 
had  found  those  papers,  and  had  the  mat- 
ter out.  And  she  looked  up  at  him,  with 
her  eyes  still  dewy,  and  a  tear  half-way 
down  each  cheek,  and  smiled.  A  queer 
smile  twitched  his  face;  he  had  just 
thought  of  Mrs.  Collector,  and  how  he 
64 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

should  explain  the  situation  if  she  sud- 
denly appeared.  Not  much  danger,  how- 
ever, for  she  was  ten  thousand  miles  away. 
So  his  thoughts  came  back  to  Kela  Bai, 
and  his  smile  changed  into  an  answer  to 
hers. 

They  looked  into  each  other's  eyes  for  a 
full  minute,  and  at  the  end  of  it  they  were 
smiling  still.  While  the  seconds  were  slip- 
ping swiftly  past,  they  had  both  gone 
through  a  world  of  strange  feelings.  The 
Collector  had  vividly  realized,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  the  throbbing  life  of 
another  human  being  outside  himself. 
Under  the  magnetism  of  her  eyes  he  felt 
that  she  was  real,  that  he  had  been  follow- 
ing all  her  emotions  as  if  they  had  been 
his  own.  Through  her  great  dark  eyes  he 
was  looking  into  the  myriad  eyes  of  the 
Indian  world — eyes  that  gleamed,  full  of 
impenetrable  mystery;  eyes  that  glowed 
with  emotions  like  his  own,  yet  different; 
eyes  that  looked  on  the  same  green  earth 
and  overarching  sky,  and  saw  them  trans- 
formed and  haunted;  endless  myriads  of 
65 


Kela  Bai: 

eyes  seemed  to  be  looking  into  his  through 
hers:  all  full  of  life,  full  of  recognition; 
and  behind  them  were  others,  of  the  dead 
who  yet  live,  going  back  generation  on 
generation,  for  a  myriad  years,  full  of  the 
awful  light  that  lightens  the  heart  of  man. 
All  life  rose  before  him,  from  its  twilight 
dawn,  glowing  before  him  out  of  those 
myriad  eyes.  And  he  felt  the  eternal  mys- 
tery and  might  that  lay  behind  them.  The 
soul  in  those  eyes  had  glowed  for  ever  and 
ever,  from  the  beginningless  beginning  to 
the  endless  end.  A  veil  was  lifted,  and  he 
had  beheld  the  vast  ocean  of  the  souls  of 
men. 

Many  men  had  looked  into  those  bright, 
luminous  eyes,  but  none  before  had  seen 
a  vision,  or  anything  more  than  an  image 
of  themselves.  And  now  there  was  an  ans- 
wering vision  in  her  own  wild  heart. 

At  first  she  had  looked  at  the  Collector, 
smiling  dreamily,  with  the  feeling  of  a  lit- 
tle child  who  was  crying,  and  has  been 
comforted.  Then  she  felt  a  great  restful- 
ness,  a  reaction  from  all  the  strong  feelings 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

she  had  gone  through  since  dawn ;  and  for 
a  while  she  nestled  in  that  feeling  of  com- 
fort and  quiet,  and  desired  nothing  fur- 
ther. But  her  imagination  was  too  active, 
her  will  too  strong,  to  remain  quiet  long. 
In  her  turn,  she  felt  the  magnetism  of  her 
new  friend  pouring  into  her  from  his  eyes, 
and  it  was  strange  to  her  and  disquieting. 
She  felt  herself  touching  new  sides  of  life, 
undreamed  of  before,  but  palpably  present 
in  this  stranger,  who  was  yet  so  clearly 
akin;  who  had  comforted  her  so  wonder- 
fully in  her  distress,  so  easily  overruling 
all  the  powers  that  had  menaced  her.  She 
began  to  dream  of  hidden  lands,  of  distant 
peoples,  of  wide  prospects,  of  unseen  cities. 
He  had  beheld  them  all,  though  they  may 
have  meant  little  enough  to  him.  Her  old 
life  grew  suddenly  narrow.  It  would  not 
fit  her  any  more.  Not  that  she  felt  any 
sudden  moral  revulsion,  for  she  had  never 
regarded  the  question  of  morals.  But  that 
there  were  so  many  other  horizons,  and 
that  her  will  was  straining  to  go  forth  and 
make  them  her  own.  And  she  was  not  a 
67 


Kela  Bai: 

whit  abashed  by  so  big  a  world.  She  had 
suddenly  gained  such  comfort  from  so 
strange  and  unexpected  a  source  that  she 
divined  that  there  is  comfort  everywhere, 
if  one  could  only  find  it.  She  felt  that 
she  was  already  provided  for  from  of  old, 
and  a  Sanskrit  verse  came  back  to  her,  that 
her  old  Brahman  friend  had  taught  her  in 
bygone  days: 

"  Who  gave  the  swan  his  whiteness  and  the  parrot 

wings  of  green, 

Who  painted  bright  the  peacock,  will  He  not 
care  for  thee  ?  " 

She  was  repeating  it  to  herself  now,  and 
the  Collector  would  have  been  greatly  as- 
tonished if  he  could  have  divined  her  feel- 
ing, and  understood  that  the  vision  came 
through  him.  The  tide  of  courage  rose 
welling  in  her  heart,  and  she  felt  the  over- 
shadowing Peace  answer  and  uphold  her. 

So  these  two  had  their  revelations,  in  the 
queerest  possible  way;  and  they  realized 
that,  as  they  smiled  at  each  other.  She 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

was  resting  her  head  against  his  knee  now, 
and  he  was  stroking  it. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  about  the  policeman," 
she  said,  after  a  while,  speaking  simply 
and  naturally,  with  none  of  those  wreathed 
phrases  that  adorned  her  first  set  speech ; 
and  she  went  on  to  talk  about  herself,  her 
life,  and  her  ambitions;  her  friends,  her 
enemies,  her  rivals;  gradually  unfolding 
the  whole  life  of  her  people  as  it  really  is. 
The  Collector  listened  spellbound,  realiz- 
ing that  neither  he  nor  any  man  had  heard 
these  things  before;  that  they  moved  in  a 
mist,  while  this  was  the  reality;  and  he 
murmured  to  himself:  "  It  was  worth  liv- 
ing twenty  years  in  this  blazing  land  to 
hear  this  one  tale."  The  magic  door  was 
open  before  him,  and  he  gazed  through  it 
at  the  glowing,  vividly  mingled  spectacle 
with  spellbound  eyes.  So  he  listened  for  a 
long  time  in  a  revery,  and,  when  she  had 
ended,  he  said : 

"  And  the  Light  was  the  Life  of 
man.  .  .  ."  Then,  after  a pause,he added: 
"  Your  case  will  be  all  right,  little  one." 


Kela  Bai:   An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

After  a  while  Kela  Bai  suddenly  laid 
her  hand  on  the  Collector's,  and  pressed 
it  steadily  and  warmly.  Then  she  rose  to 
her  feet,  smiled  once  more  into  his  eyes, 
and  swiftly  left  the  tent,  vanishing  into 
the  night. 

The  Collector  sat  there  for  a  long  time 
pondering,  her  face  still  before  him  in 
vision,  her  eyes  looking  into  his.  Now 
and  then  the  wail  of  the  jackals  rose  round 
the  camp,  broke  in  waves  along  his  tent, 
and  sank  away  again  into  silence. 

At  last  the  Collector  turned  out  the 
lamp.  The  orderly  still  snored  on  the 
veranda.  The  sleeping  watchmen  nodded 
beneath  the  trees  beside  their  burned-out 
watchfires,  their  spears  resting  against  the 
stems.  The  jackals  tripped  in  and  out 
amongst  the  tent-ropes,  and  the  dew  was 
wet  on  their  coats.  The  moonlight  sil- 
vered the  rice-fields,  glistened  on  the  black- 
ness of  the  leaves,  and  fell  in  white  splashes 
on  the  ground.  A  great  stillness  throbbed 
over  all. 


70 


Ill 


The  Collector  stepped  forth  briskly  from 
his  tent,  with  an  alert  look  in  his  eyes,  and 
gently  rubbing  his  hands.  His  face  was 
pink,  and  the  grey  hair  gleamed  silvery  at 
his  temples.  He  was  dressed  for  a  ride, 
but  had  not  put  his  helmet  on. 

The  slant  sun  of  the  morning  stretched 
the  shadows  of  the  mango-trees  far  away 
across  the  brown  rice  stubble  behind  the 
camp.  A  heavy  dew  lay  upon  it,  twink- 
ling like  wet  diamonds  in  the  sunlight, 
and  filling  the  air  with  a  smell  of  damp 
freshness.  A  pair  of  orioles  darted  across 
the  open,  with  the  sun  flashing  on  their 
orange  backs,  and  glinting  on  the  glossy 
black  feathers  of  head  and  wings  and  tail. 
They  disappeared  in  the  heavy  green  leaf- 
age, and  the  deep  gurgle  of  their  voices 
presently  came  forth.  The  Collector 
smiled  to  himself  as  he  watched  them. 
71 


Kela  Bai: 

He  had  been  dreaming  about  Kela  Bai, 
and  the  sense  of  her  presence  was  fresh 
upon  him,  but  with  a  certain  rakish  wild- 
ness,  born  of  dreams.  "I  should  have 
held  on  that  time,"  he  murmured,  and 
smiled. 

He  walked  a  dozen  paces  to  and  fro  on 
the  sand  before  the  white  cubes  of  the 
tents,  with  their  spider-lines  and  wide 
verandas.  The  branches  made  shimmer- 
ing shadows  on  their  pointed  roofs.  His 
butler,  turbaned,  soft-footed,  and  demure, 
was  spreading  a  wide  cloth  on  a  japanned 
gipsy  table,  and  presently  set  out  a  silver 
teapot,  and  two  slices  of  buttered  toast. 
The  Collector  watched  with  an  approving 
eye.  Under  the  trees  to  the  left,  the  blue- 
turbaned  grooms  were  rubbing  down  his 
two  big  Australian  horses,  that  snorted  in 
the  coolness  of  the  morning.  The  grooms 
were  purring  with  their  lips  in  a  way  that 
suggested  quietness  and  peace. 

A  runner  had  just  brought  in  the  let- 
ters. The  Collector  picked  them  up  from 
his  table,  sat  down,  and  looked  them  over. 
72 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

Then  he  made  a  little,  wry  grimace,  and 
put  them  down  again.  They  were  from 
the  folks  at  home,  and  his  fancy  was  else- 
where. His  helmet  was  beside  him  on  a 
chair.  He  looked  at  it  with  an  odd  twink- 
le in  his  eye,  thinking  how  Kela  Bai  had 
tried  it  on.  He  meant  to  take  her  case  up 
first,  and  "  that  beast,  the  Sub-Inspector," 
as  he  mentally  called  him,  would  be  on 
hand  presently  with  the  witnesses.  At 
the  fringe  of  the  mango-grove  towards  the 
village  a  crowd  was  gathering — petitioners, 
plaintiffs,  defendants,  hangers-on,  brow- 
beaten by  a  Brahman  clerk  in  white  mus- 
lin, the  same  who  had  likened  Kela  Bai  to 
a  peacock.  He  was  harassed  and  fearful 
at  the  thought  of  testifying  in  her  case, 
and  therefore  he  ill-treated  the  lay  crowd. 

The  Sub-Inspector,  with  his  police  ser- 
geant and  three  constables,  made  their 
appearance  from  the  village.  The  Sub- 
Inspector  stalked  under  his  white  um- 
brella, and  held  his  chin  up.  But  his  eye 
waited  uneasily  on  the  Collector  Sahib. 

The  Collector  finished  his  toast  and 
73 


Kela  Bai: 

sipped  his  tea.  Then  he  donned  his  hel- 
met, a  little  self-consciously,  and  went  to 
meet  his  big  brown  Australian,  which  he 
called  Justinian,  after  the  law-giver.  Jus- 
tinian was  a  new  beast,  fresh  from  Cal- 
cutta, one  of  that  season's  importing,  and 
a  bit  unsteady  and  restive.  The  up-coun- 
try groom  was  not  the  least  afraid  of  him, 
yet  not  on  good  terms  with  him,  either. 
So  the  horse  hopped  about  when  the  Col- 
lector gathered  up  the  reins,  and  kicked 
for  the  stirrup  with  his  left  foot;  and  even 
after  he  found  the  stirrup,  he  had  to  dance 
a  bit,  with  his  left  hand  on  Justinian's 
mane  and  his  right  on  the  saddle,  before 
he  managed  to  get  safe  up.  But  once  up, 
he  sat  like  a  centaur,  heels  straight  down, 
and  toes  pointing  straight  forward — and 
with  a  flash  of  regret  in  his  heart  that 
Kela  Bai  was  not  there  to  see  him.  He 
knew  he  looked  his  best  on  horseback. 

Justinian  capered  about  a  little,  and 

vibrated  like  an  elastic  spring,  but  quieted 

down  presently  under  the  Collector's  steady 

hand.     He  turned  slowly  towards  the  river- 

74 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

bank,  passing  close  to  the  path  along  which 
the  Sub-Inspector  was  coming.  When  the 
Collector  rose  from  the  table  the  Sub- 
Inspector  had  quickened  his  step,  his  bear- 
ing had  grown  more  assertive,  and  his  eye 
more  uneasy.  The  Collector  understood 
him  to  a  hair.  He  rode  directly  towards 
him,  and  then,  apparently  quite  uncon- 
scious of  his  presence,  though  only  twenty 
yards  off,  turned  sharp  to  the  left,  and 
cantered  briskly  down  the  soft  green  turf 
along  the  river-bank,  with  its  springy  cush- 
ion of  sand  under  the  short  grass. 

The  Sub-Inspector's  jaw  fell  as  the 
White  Man  disappeared,  but  he  raised  his 
nose  a  little  higher.  He  snapped  round 
at  the  sergeant,  who  was  a  Mohammedan : 

"You  fellow,  you!  Why  do  you  walk 
so  close  behind  me  ?  You  send  the  dust 
into  my  face! " 

The  sergeant,  being  a  man  of  little 
spirit,  dutifully  fell  back,  and  made  no 
reply. 

Meanwhile  the  groom  had  stopped  to 
speak  to  the  orderly,  who  had  brought  a 
75 


Kela  Bai: 

square  teak  table  from  the  dinner-tent, 
and  was  setting  it  up  under  the  biggest 
and  shadiest  mango-tree. 

"  We  are  going  to  hold  court  here  this 
morning  ?  "  he  asked  the  orderly,  digging 
his  toes  through  the  sand  in  a  little  bare 
patch  that  was  the  orioles'  dusting  ground. 

The  orderly  assented,  looking  up  for  a 
moment  at  the  groom,  and  then  looking 
down  again.  He  had  a  face  like  a  fox, 
and  looked  willingly  into  no  man's  eyes. 

"  Sahib  soon  be  back  ? "  asked  the 
groom  again. 

"  In  about  an  hour,  as  usual,"  answered 
the  orderly,  and  immediately  regretted 
that  he  had  spoken.  He  generally  em- 
ployed that  hour  in  blackmailing  peti- 
tioners, promising  his  influence  with  the 
Collector,  but  had  been  unaccountably 
thwarted  recently,  and  so  felt  suspicious. 
The  butler  had  been  intercepting  his  cli- 
ents, assuring  them  that  he,  and  not  the 
orderly,  had  the  Sahib's  ear;  and  the  ser- 
vants' tent  was  seething  with  the  intrigue, 
while  petitioners  quailed,  fearing  to  bribe 
76 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

the  wrong  man.  After  a  while  they  would 
compromise  and  divide,  but  just  now  they 
were  at  daggers  drawn. 

"Whose  case  is  on  first?"  asked  the 
groom,  after  considering  a  while.  He  had 
an  assignation  in  the  village,  and  wanted 
to  learn  his  chance  of  slipping  away.  The 
orderly  looked  up  with  his  quick,  foxlike 
glance,  and  then  down  again  at  the  locked 
despatch-box  he  was  setting  on  the  table. 

"  Behari  Babu  and  the  lady  in  red,"  he 
answered,  grinning  to  himself,  "  Kela 
Bai." 

The  groom  was  interested  immediately. 
He  began  to  question  within  himself 
whether  this  was  not  going  to  be  more 
interesting  than  his  projected  visit  to  the 
village. 

"  We  shall  lock  her  up  for  a  month  or 
two,"  went  on  the  orderly,  grinning  still. 
"  It  will  be  lonely  in  the  village,  and  peo- 
ple will  be  asking  to  be  sent  to  jail.  But 
I  have  work  to  do,"  he  broke  off  curtly, 
remembering  that  the  golden  hour  was 
fleeting. 

77 


Kela  Bai: 

The  groom  went  off  muttering  to  him- 
self. He  could  not  decide  whether  to  go 
or  stay,  and  so  his  temper  suffered.  The 
Collector's  second  horse — Prince,  a  liver- 
bay,  so  dark  as  to  be  almost  black — was  an 
old  friend  of  his,  and  had  long  had  a  play- 
ful habit  of  snapping  at  his  shoulder  as  he 
went  past.  The  groom  turned  angrily  now, 
and  cuffed  Prince  on  the  cheek,  though  he 
knew  that  it  was  only  play.  But  Prince's 
feelings  were  hurt  for  the  next  two  days. 

The  shadows  were  growing  shorter,  and 
the  whiteness  of  the  dew  was  lifting.  The 
Collector  Sahib  and  Justinian  appeared 
down  the  river-bank,  coming  slowly  back 
towards  the  camp.  He  was  looking  keenly 
towards  the  mango-grove  under  the  rim  of 
his  helmet,  yet  without  seeming  to  look. 
Now  and  then  he  glanced  up  towards  the 
village,  with  its  reed-thatched  huts  and 
banana  gardens.  He  went  slower  and 
slower.  All  at  once  he  moved  almost  im- 
perceptibly in  the  saddle,  and  turned  the 
hunting-crop  over  in  his  hand.  He  had 
seen  what  he  was  waiting  for. 
78 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

Kela  Bai  was  coming  from  the  village 
with  that  quick,  deerlike  step  he  knew  so 
well;  but  one  thing  he  could  not  make 
out :  she  was  dressed  all  in  white,  and  wore 
no  jewellery  at  all,  not  even  a  nose-ring  or 
an  anklet.  Now  the  custom  of  caste  or- 
dained that  Kela  Bai  should  wear  a  Sari 
with  a  broad  border  of  red,  while  her  own 
taste  led  her  to  be  profuse  in  ornament. 
Therefore  her  white  robe  could  mean  only 
one  thing:  that  she  had  broken  caste  to 
become  a  devotee;  had  entered  that  great 
convent  of  immemorial  India,  whose  roof 
is  the  blue  firmament,  and  its  walls  the 
everlasting  hills. 

That  was  why  the  Collector  had  started, 
and  nervously  shifted  his  riding-crop.  He 
had  been  trying  to  keep  Kela  Bai's  life 
and  her  person  separate,  with  a  certain  re- 
pugnance which  he  hardly  acknowledged 
even  to  himself.  And  now  Kela  Bai  had 
stepped  clean  out  of  her  old  life,  shaking- 
it  off  as  the  chick  shakes  off  the  shell. 
"What  she  had  done  was,  outwardly  at 
least,  an  act  of  religion;  yet  her  impulse 
79 


Kela  Bai: 

was  not  religious.  It  was  an  outburst  of 
the  will  towards  freedom,  and  a  longing 
for  wide  horizons,  that  had  come  into 
her  heart  the  night  before  as  she  sat  at  the 
Collector's  knee.  He  rightly  divined  that 
she  intended  to  join  a  band  of  pilgrims 
who  were  passing  down  the  Nawab's  road 
that  afternoon.  Though  under  summons 
to  appear,  on  a  grave  charge,  with  all  the 
evidence  against  her,  she  seemed  as  sure 
of  her  liberty  as  though  she  were  already 
acquitted.  So  confident  was  she  in  her 
new  friend's  power  and  goodwill. 

They  were  close  to  each  other  by  this 
time,  and  each  felt  a  great  curiosity  to  see 
the  other  in  full  daylight.  Kela  Bai 
smiled  up  in  the  Collector's  face,  with  a 
warm,  sunny  smile.  She  was  wholly  free 
from  self-consciousness,  and  nothing  about 
her  suggested  a  religious  vocation.  She 
was  rather  the  aboriginal  life  of  nature, 
like  the  gay  sunshine,  or  the  rippling  river. 

The  Collector  looked  down  at  her,  from 
under  his  grey  brows,  with  a  certain  self- 
consciousness,  yet  pleased  that  she  saw  him 
80 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

on  horseback.  Without  knowing  it,  he 
sat  a  little  more  erect,  held  his  heels  closer 
in,  and  turned  his  toes  straighter  to  the 
front.  Don  Juan  was  stirring  in  him  as 
he  watched  that  deerlike  step  of  hers,  and 
the  perfect  suppleness  and  clean  curves  of 
her  body.  He  thought,  for  a  moment, 
how  well  she  would  look  in  the  saddle. 

But  they  only  remained  close  together 
for  a  single  instant,  just  long  enough  for  a 
flash  of  recognition  to  pass.  A  hundred 
eyes  were  on  the  Collector,  all  keen  and 
sharp  as  needles ;  but  no  visible  sign  passed 
between  him  and  Kela  Bai  that  any  of 
them  could  recognize.  The  long  stride  of 
his  Australian  soon  left  her  behind,  and 
walking  him  forward  under  the  trees,  the 
Collector  reached  his  tent  and  dismounted. 

"  'Wish  she  could  have  seen  me  do  a 
gallop,"  he  was  thinking  to  himself. 
"  'Wonder  how  soon  she  goes.  Not  a  bad 
idea  to  adjourn  the  case  till  to-morrow — 
for  consultation.  'Wonder  if  she'd  come 
again.  'Would  do  it  if  it  wasn't  for  that 
swine  of  a  Sub-Inspector.  Damn  his  im- 
81 


Kela  Bai: 

pudence  !  "  This  was  small  thanks  for  a 
zealous  public  servant's  efforts  for  order 
and  decency. 

The  orderly  had  been  sitting  in  the  ver- 
anda of  the  tent,  polishing  the  brass  shield 
on  his  shoulder-sash — his  badge  of  office. 
He  kept  a  furtive  lookout  under  his  brows 
for  possible  petitioners,  and  at  the  same 
time  listened  with  a  feeling  of  jealous  sus- 
picion to  the  movements  of  the  butler 
within  the  tent. 

Echoes  of  a  noisy  dispute  came  from  the 
servants'  quarters.  A  loaf  of  bread  was 
missing — a  serious  matter  in  camp.  The 
cook  accused  the  butler  of  stealing  it.  The 
butler  said  a  jackal  had  taken  it,  which  hap- 
pened to  be  true.  But  the  cook  sneered: 

"  A  jackal  eat  bread  ?  " 

"A  jackal  will  eat  anything,"  retorted 
the  angry  butler,  "even  the  flesh  of  a 
cook." 

The  orderly  grinned,  and  rose  softly,  as 

he  saw  the  Sahib  coming.     He  would  not 

give  the  others  warning,  because  he  hoped 

the  dispute,  dragged  to  light,  might  bring 

82 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

the  butler  a  public  wigging,  and  thus  re- 
store the  balance  of  trade.  But  the  groom 
also  saw,  and  uttered  a  guarded  cry : 

"Softly!  Softly!  The  Sahib  is  com 
ing!  "  And  everything  suddenly  grew  de- 
corous and  still.  The  orderly  was  stand- 
ing at  attention  before  the  veranda,  and 
the  groom  was  waiting  sedately  for  the 
great  man's  horse. 

The  Sub-Inspector  and  his  satellites 
made  a  move  from  the  mango-tree  under 
which  they  were  standing,  but  the  Col- 
lector ignored  them  completely.  The  Sub- 
Inspector's  jaw  fell  still  lower,  and  his 
nose  rose  still  higher.  He  was  losing 
countenance.  At  this  moment  he  noticed 
Kela  Bai  approaching,  recognizing  her  by 
her  walk,  and  would  have  gone  to  brow- 
beat her,  and  even  intimidate  her  with 
blows,  but  that  he  felt  the  weight  of  the 
Collector's  presence  heavy  upon  him. 
Then  he  noticed  the  change  in  her  Sari, 
and  at  once  grasped  its  significance,  feel- 
ing a  malignant  foreboding  that  the  change 
meant  he  would  be  foiled,  and  at  the  same 


Kela  Bai: 

time  a  flash  of  that  awe  before  a  religious 
devotee  which  was  instinctive  in  his  blood. 
A  sense  of  unreality  was  coming  over  him, 
who  had  been  so  confident  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  his  mind  was  losing  focus.  He 
therefore  grew  more  haughty  towards  the 
sergeant  and  the  three  constables,  who,  in 
their  turn,  grew  more  subdued. 

Kela  Bai  had  followed  at  a  distance,  in 
the  Collector's  wake.  She  now  lingered  a 
while,  and  then  sat  down  in  a  deep  splash 
of  shadow  beside  a  mango-tree,  well  within 
sight  of  the  tent-door,  but  as  far  as  might 
be  from  the  Sub-Inspector.  There  was  a 
shining  in  her  face  that  seemed  to  come 
through  the  light-brown  skin,  and  made  it 
gleam  like  gold.  She  felt  a  freedom  and 
lightness  in  all  her  body,  and  she  was 
humming  a  Bengali  love-song  to  herself, 
with  an  upward  tilt  at  the  end  of  each 
line.  She  was  evidently  weighed  down  by 
neither  repentance  nor  regret.  She  was 
as  evidently  not  held  by  the  ascetic  dream 
of  that  great  greyness  into  which  all  things 
melt,  as  the  sage  grows  one  with  the  whole 
84 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

world.  On  the  contrary,  she  was  throb- 
bing through  every  nerve  with  her  new- 
found freedom,  and  was  still  dazed  with 
the  brightness  and  strangeness  of  it  all. 
Like  a  snake  that  has  sloughed  its  old 
covering,  she  had  come  forth  gleaming 
and  new-born,  yet  with  a  certain  dreami- 
ness which  would  linger  in  her  eyes  for 
days.  She  forgot,  after  a  minute  or  two, 
why  she  had  come  to  the  camp,  and  was 
busy  chirruping  to  a  grey  squirrel  with  a 
yellow  back  that  sat  watching  her  with 
sly,  bright  eyes,  on  the  lowest  branch  of 
the  nearest  tree.  The  squirrel  chattered 
shrilly  at  Kela  Bai,  and  Kela  Bai  chattered 
back  at  the  squirrel,  and  then  laughed, 
with  that  deep,  mellow  laugh  of  hers.  She 
did  not  know  it,  but  the  Collector  was  at 
that  moment  watching  her  from  the  dark 
cavern  of  his  tent,  smiling  at  her,  and 
wishing  with  all  his  heart  that  he  could 
dismiss  them  all  except  her  and  himself, 
and  that  they  could  go  bird's-nesting  down 
the  river.  The  sight  of  her  playing  with 
the  squirrel  stirred  an  idyllic  chord  in  his 
85 


Kela  Bai: 

heart,  and  he  remembered  that  he  had 
half-unconsciously  noticed  a  kingfisher's 
burrow  in  the  river-bank,  all  white  at  the 
entrance,  and  therefore  new;  and  he  sus- 
pected an  oriole's  housekeeping,  some- 
where among  the  branches;  also,  there 
was  a  vulture's  awkward  nest  at  the  top 
of  the  highest  mango  ;  and  immediately  his 
fancy  raised  the  question  :  which  of  them 
had  best  climb  up  to  it?  He  laughed 
softly  to  himself,  and  then  he  sighed. 

Meanwhile  Kela  Bai  had  beguiled  the 
squirrel  from  the  tree,  and  it  was  running 
towards  her,  with  little  sideways  darts, 
sitting  up  to  chatter  at  every  yard.  She 
called  to  it,  and  held  out  her  hand,  her 
big  eyes  gleaming.  The  squirrel  came 
closer,  till  it  was  within  a  foot  of  her. 
Then  she  made  a  quick  spring,  and  caught 
it  with  both  hands,  laughing  aloud  in 
pure  delight.  But  her  laughter  suddenly 
stopped,  and  she  cast  the  ball  of  grey  and 
yellow  fur  away  from  her  with  a  little  cry 
of  pain.  It  had  bitten  her  thumb.  In- 
stinctively the  watching  Collector  put  his 
86 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

finger  in  his  mouth.  The  Sub- Inspector 
also  saw  her  mishap,  and  laughed  a  rough, 
nervous  laugh.  The  Collector  heard  it. 

"Time  to  cook  that  swine's  goose,"  he 
muttered  to  himself,  with  more  force  than 
clearness. 

He  left  the  tent,  looked  about  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  turned  quickly  towards  the 
tree  under  which  the  Sub-Inspector  and 
his  subordinates  were  sitting.  They  all 
started  to  their  feet  with  a  rustle  like  a 
covey  of  partridges,  and  fumbled  awk- 
wardly with,  their  belts.  The  leather 
thongs  galled  them,  and  they  never  kept 
them  on  except  in  the  presence  of  Digni- 
ties. The  Collector  strode  close  up  to  the 
Sub-Inspector,  and  began  to  examine  him 
with  a  stony  stare.  The  Sub-Inspector 
grew  confused,  salaamed  too  vigorously, 
and  began  to  stammer. 

The  Collector  abruptly  interrupted  him. 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  I  asked  you  to  sit 
down,  Babu,"  he  said,  and  then  turned  on 
his  heel,  muttering:  "Damn  his  impud- 
ence!" quite  loud  enough  for  the  Sub- 
87 


Kela  Bai: 

Inspector  to  hear.  He  understood  per- 
fectly, and  winced,  trusting  that  the  ser- 
geant did  not.  The  sergeant  and  three 
constables  cast  down  their  eyes,  thinking 
that  they  would  suffer  for  this  later  on. 

The  Collector  returned  to  his  tent,  and 
began  to  take  off  his  riding  things.  Then 
he  let  the  air  circle  round  his  ribs  for  a 
few  seconds,  thinking  that  he  had  not  such 
a  bad  figure,  after  all;  and  then,  entering 
the  bath-room  tent,  he  sluiced  cold  water 
over  himself,  from  a  red  earthen  jar.  He 
did  it  a  second  and  a  third  time,  feeling 
the  cool  stream  running  down  his  back, 
and  deriving  great  comfort  and  freshness 
therefrom.  Then  he  shook  himself,  so 
that  the  drops  scattered  against  the  can- 
vas, and  rubbing  himself  with  a  rough 
towel,  began  to  dress.  He  chose  a  suit  of 
yellow  jungle  silk,  as  an  unconscious  ap- 
peal to  Kela  Bai's  good  taste.  As  he 
dressed,  he  could  see  her  sitting  under  her 
tree,  her  head  tilted  back,  sucking  her 
thumb,  and  looking  upwards.  He  went 
forward  to  the  door,  to  see  what  she  was 
88 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

watching.  It  was  a  big  red  and  green 
woodpecker,  in  the  tree  above  her,  plying 
his  bill  from  side  to  side  at  a  bald  patch 
on  the  tree,  from  which  the  chips  fell  on 
her  shoulder,  and  this  had  evidently  at- 
tracted her  attention.  A  corner  of  the 
mantle  of  sympathy  with  all  wild  things 
was  falling  on  her,  since  she  had  found 
her  freedom,  and  this  industrious  bird  in- 
terested her  hugely. 

The  Collector  wondered  whether  she  had 
seen  him  snub  her  foe,  and  thought  how 
he  should  like  to  have  her  share  his  curry. 
He  even  argued  to  himself  that,  as  a  de- 
votee has  no  caste,  she  could  receive  food 
from  all  castes  alike,  even  from  the  high- 
est and  most  exclusive  of  all,  the  Caste  of 
Bengal  Civilian.  He  felt  a  great  desire  to 
ask  her  questions,  to  renew  the  intimacy 
of  the  night  before;  an  innocent  wish  to 
have  her  admire  his  authority,  and  a  half- 
conscious  willingness  to  rub  from  her 
memory  certain  moments  of  their  first 
meeting.  But  the  slightest  recognition 
would  mean  open  scandal.  Once  more 
89 


Kela  Bai: 

he  muttered:  "Damn  his  impudence!" 
and  glanced  sideways  towards  the  Sub-In- 
spector, who  was  shifting  uneasily  from 
one  foot  to  the  other,  and  glaring  at  Kela 
Bai,  comfortably  sitting  in  full  view,  while 
he,  a  high  official,  was  compelled  to  stand. 
The  Collector  considered  whether  he  could 
have  the  other  table  placed  so  as  to  push 
the  high  official  into  the  sun,  which  was  al- 
ready growing  hot,  at  the  same  time  keep- 
ing himself  and  the  defendant  in  the  shade. 

"Move  that  table  over  there,"  he  said 
to  the  orderly,  rising  from  his  breakfast, 
and  pointing  to  another  spot,  where  the 
Sub-Inspector,  standing  on  his  right, 
would  get  the  full  benefit  of  the  heat, 
while  oppressed  innocence  would  fight  in 
the  shade. 

"Like  Leonidas  at  Thermopylae"  he 
said  to  himself.  Then  he  opened  the  de- 
spatch-box, in  which  the  rupees  Kela  Bai 
had  counted  were  still  swimming  among 
the  papers,  and  drew  forth  the  file  of  her 
case.  Then  he  said : 

"  Call  the  Sub-Inspector." 
90 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

The  orderly  grinned  behind  his  hand, 
noticing  the  unceremonious  form,  and 
knowing  that  it  must  be  intentional.  The 
Collector  was  no  newly  joined  Assistant, 
to  trip  over  grammatical  refinements.  The 
orderly  went  swaggering  over  to  the  tree, 
where  the  Sub-Inspector  was  still  dancing 
the  crane's  dance,  and  delivered  the  mes- 
sage with  a  smirk  and  a  shrug,  which  in- 
terpreted in  gesture  the  abruptness  of  the 
Collector's  words.  With  the  file  of  the 
case  the  Collector  had  taken  out  a  review 
of  new  novels,  which  seemed  to  interest 
him  greatly;  for  when  the  Sub-Inspector 
came  over,  and  stood  salaaming  beside 
him,  full  of  awkward  misgiving,  he  did 
not  even  glance  up.  Lookers-on  were  be- 
ginning to  notice  and  comment  in  whispers. 
The  Sub-Inspector  saw  this,  and  it  doubled 
his  pains. 

"Orderly,  call  the  first  case,"  said  the 
Collector,  without  looking  up:  "  Behari 
Babu  versus  Kela  Bai." 

"  The  Empress  versus  Kela  Bai,"  in- 
voluntarily corrected  the  Sub-Inspector. 
91 


Kela  Bai: 

The  Collector  looked  up  sharply. 

"Did  you  speak,  Babu?"  he  asked 
stiffly. 

"No,  your  worship,"  said  the  Babu. 

The  case  was  called,  and  a  motley  throng 
gathered  round  the  Collector's  table :  clerks 
of  the  subdivisional  court,  witnesses,  par- 
ties in  other  cases,  two  or  three  fat  lawyers, 
and  the  sergeant  and  three  constables.  The 
indictment  against  Kela  Bai  was  a  formid- 
able one ;  and  the  witnesses  knew  their 
story  perfectly.  They  had  been  rehears- 
ing it  under  a  tree  while  the  Collector  was 
out  for  his  ride.  Kela  Bai  also  came  up, 
leisurely,  dreamily,  as  if  the  matter  hardly 
concerned  her. 

Meanwhile  the  Collector  had  been  coldly 
examining  the  crowd,  and  as  coldly  ignor- 
ing the  Sub-Inspector.  He  was  slowly 
transforming  himself  from  a  man  into  a 
Court,  and  everyone  felt  the  change,  even 
Kela  Bai.  A  solemnity  and  constraint  fell 
upon  them  all,  changing  the  aisled  grove 
into  a  hall  with  many  arches,  and  all  whis- 
pers ceased.  The  Sub- Inspector  rallied  for 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

a  moment  in  that  familiar  atmosphere, 
which  only  men  of  law  can  freely  breathe, 
but  only  for  a  moment,  for  the  Collector 
turned  sharp  upon  him. 

"  Where  is  the  Day  Book  ?  "  he  asked, 
with  the  air  of  an  executioner. 

The  Sub-Iuspector  started,  changed  col- 
our, and  began  to  stammer. 

"Babu,  I  have  told  you  three  times  to 
bring  the  Day  Book.  I  must  always  see 
the  first  entry  of  a  case  like  this." 

The  Sub-Inspector  was  so  wrought  up 
by  this  time  that  he  clearly  recollected 
this  order — which  had  never  been  given. 
He  said  something  in  a  half -whisper  to  one 
of  his  constables,  who  was  off  at  a  trot 
on  the  instant. 

"  What  are  you  sending  that  man  for  ?  " 
asked  the  Collector,  with  a  stare  of  sur- 
prise. 

"For  —  the  —  Day  Book  —  your  wor- 
ship!" The  Collector  gazed  at  him  for 
twenty  seconds,  rather  in  sorrow  than  in 
anger. 

"  Babu,"  he  said,  "  I  thought  you  knew 


Kela  Bai: 

that  the  Day  Book  should  always  remain 
in  charge  of  the  Sub-Inspector." 

"  Shall  I  bring  it  myself,  your  wor- 
ship?"  asked  the  Babu,  almost  in  tears. 

"  Naturally,"  answered  the  Collector 
drily. 

The  Sub-Inspector  started  at  a  trot  after 
the  receding  figure  of  the  constable,  a  lean 
man,  with  a  long  start.  It  was  more  than 
a  mile  to  the  office,  and  just  beyond  the 
grove,  a  half-mile  of  white  road  lay  shim- 
mering in  the  heat,  before  the  first  shelter 
of  the  village  was  reached.  And  everyone 
was  looking  on.  The  Sub-Inspector's 
heart  died  within  him,  at  the  thought  of 
racing  through  that  dust  and  heat  in  his 
heavy  uniform  jacket  and  galling  belt.  It 
was  physical  torture,  in  addition  to  his 
mental  woe.  The  Collector  watched  his 
limping  run  for  a  moment,  and  then  looked 
down  suddenly  at  his  book-reviews.  Kela 
Bai  was  smiling,  and  he  feared  to  catch 
her  eye.  He  was  a  Court  now,  and  must 
not  smile ;  and  her  saintship  was  too  rec- 
ent for  him  to  acknowledge  the  acquaint- 
94 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

ance.  He  looked  up  again  in  a  moment. 
The  Sub-Inspector  was  about  half-way 
across  the  hot  zone,  on  his  way  to  the  vil- 
lage, ploughing  along  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

"Orderly,"  said  the  Collector,  "call 
the  Babu!"  Once  more  he  omitted  the 
complimentary  form. 

The  orderly  ran  to  the  edge  of  the  grove. 

"Hey,  Babu-u-u-u!"  he.  shrilled  glee- 
fully; and  the  victim  broke  his  trot  sud- 
denly and  looked  back. 

"  Babu-u-u-u !  "  cried  the  orderly  again, 
waving  his  arm. 

The  Sub-Inspector  had  to  turn  and  come 
panting  back  again.  His  throat  was  full 
of  dust,  and  there  were  tears  in  his  eyes. 
He  came  halting  up  to  his  sunny  post  at 
the  Collector's  right — everyone  else  being 
in  the  shade — and  the  Collector  turned 
sharp  upon  him. 

"Babu,"  he  said,  "this  is,  without  ex- 
ception, the  worst  case  that  has  ever  come 
before  me! " 

"  Ye-yes,  your  worship!  "  answered  the 
Sub-Inspector,  quite  unconsciously. 
95 


Kela  Bai: 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir?"  asked  the 
Collector  sharply. 

"  Nothing,  your  worship,"  said  the  Babu 
in  a  low  voice.  "  I  am  suffering  from  the 
heat." 

The  Collector  completed  his  sentence. 

"  This  case — as  you  have  revised  it" — 
the  Sub-Inspector  winced— "  contains  a 
charge  of  instigation  to  do  grievous  bodily 
harm.  That,  as  you  know,  makes  it  a 
warrant  case." 

"Yes,  your  worship!"  assented  the 
Sub-Inspector,  with  more  assurance.  He 
thought  he  was  on  firm  ground  here. 

"Then  why  was  no  warrant  issued?" 
retorted  the  Collector  instantly. 

The  Sub-Inspector  saw  that  he  had  been 
caught.  Kela  Bai  had  simply  received  a 
summons. 

"  The — prisoner — is  here  in  court,  your 
worship,"  he  stammered. 

"  The  defendant,  you  probably  mean," 
corrected  the  Collector. 

"  That  is  Kela  Bai  standing  beside  you," 
murmured  the  Sub-Inspector,  feeling  more 
96 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

confident,  now  that  he  was  touching 
fact. 

Every  one  looked  at  Kela  Bai,  who,  in 
her  turn,  looked  at  the  Collector. 

He  was  looking  straight  into  her  eyes, 
and  only  the  faintest  drooping  of  a  lid,  in- 
visible to  all  but  her,  showed  recognition. 
She,  on  her  part,  was  smiling  openly,  show- 
ing her  teeth. 

The  Collector  scrutinized  her  judicially 
for  a  full  half-minute.  Then  he  re-read 
the  statement  of  the  case  before  him. 

"This  is  a  mistake,"  he  said,  very  de- 
cidedly. When  the  Court  speaks  in  that 
tone,  the  Court  is  never  contradicted. 
Then  he  turned  to  Kela  Bai.  He  knew 
that,  with  the  white  Sari,  she  must  have 
taken  a  new  name,  as  do  all  devotees. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  he  asked,  with 
intention,  and  using  the  ceremonious  form 
he  had  shorn  the  Sub-Inspector  of.  Every 
one  noticed  it,  and  stared ;  the  Sub-Inspec- 
tor winced  visibly. 

" Moksha  Bai,"  answered  the  'defend- 
ant '  with  a  smile.  It  was  the  first  time 
97 


Kela  Bai: 

she  had  pronounced  her  new  title,  "  Sister 
Freedom."  Her  old  friend  in  the  temple 
had  chosen  it  for  her,  pinching  her  cheek, 
and  saying:  "Nothing  in  the  world  is  so 
sweet  as  Moksha — Bai." 

The  Collector  was  relieved.  He  had 
feared  for  a  moment  she  might  forget, 
and  give  her  old  name. 

When  she  had  spoken,  he  turned  again 
to  the  Sub-Inspector,  with  an  expression 
of  grave  disapproval. 

"It  was  clear  to  me,  Babu,"  he  said, 
speaking  deliberately,  "  that  this — devotee 
— could  not  be — ah — the  person  described 
in  the  complaint.  That  puts  the  coping- 
stone  on  your  case." 

The  Sub-Inspector  flinched.  He  was  a 
fine  English  scholar,  but  had  quite  forgot- 
ten the  meaning  of  coping-stone. 

"It  is,"  resumed  the  Collector,  "the 
worst  case,  in  both  form  and  substance, 
that  has  ever  come  before  me.  No  Day 
Book;  a  summons  instead  of  a  warrant; 
and  a  devotee  summoned  instead  of — ah — 
the  defendant."  Fearing  that  Kela  Bai 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

might  laugh  and  betray  him,  if  she  under- 
stood, he  spoke  in  English.  "  Needless  to 
say,  as  far  as  this  devotee  is  concerned,  the 
case  is  ended.  She  should  never  have  come 
here — though  I  am  heartily  glad  she  did  " 
— this  last  to  himself — ' '  but  as  far  as  you 
are  concerned,  Babu,  the  case  is  only  be- 
ginning." Here  he  gave  the  Sub-Inspec- 
tor a  long  stare,  to  help  his  words  to  soak 
in.  "  It  is  quite  clear  that  this  is  one  of 
those  trumped-up  cases,  brought  to  avenge 
a  private  spite."  The  Sub-Inspector 
paled ;  he  was  not  accustomed  to  this  clair- 
voyance in  his  White  Overlords.  He  cast 
down  his  eyes,  yet  felt  the  general  smile, 
for  every  one  knew  the  real  origin  of  the 
case,  and  the  story  of  his  slighted  suit. 
Kela  Bai  would  assuredly  have  laughed, 
but  she  was  otherwise  engaged.  The  stern 
eye  of  the  Court  instantly  repressed  the 
general  smile,  and  he  continued:  • 

"  Apparently  a  summons  has  been  served 

on  this — devotee.      Under   the   Criminal 

Procedure  Code,  as  you  well  know,  she  is 

entitled,  if  she  so  desires,  to  bring  a  coun- 

99 


Kela  Bai: 

ter-case  against  you,  for  'frivolous  and 
vexatious  prosecution  ' ;  "  this  last  in  Ben- 
gali. The  Collector  turned  to  where  Kela 
Bai  had  been  standing. 

"  The  defendant  is  chasing  a  butterfly," 
murmured  the  Brahman  clerk,  without 
raising  his  eyes.  Over  him,  as  over  all  the 
others,  was  beginning  to  creep  that  awe 
which  all  Indian  devotees  inspire,  and  her 
gay  fearlessness  greatly  strengthened  the 
feeling.  They  were  all  ready  to  turn 
against  the  Sub-Inspector,  even  his  own 
friends. 

The  Collector  looked  round  in  surprise. 
It  was  quite  true.  Kela  Bai  was,  in  fact, 
chasing  a  butterfly,  a  big  fellow  with  blue 
and  yellow  wings.  She  tripped  over  a  root, 
sat  down  suddenly,  turned  round,  and  saw 
that  she  was  the  centre  of  all  eyes.  She 
coloured  under  her  brown  skin,  and  stole 
back  slowly,  very  much  abashed.  The 
Collector  spoke  to  her. 

"  You  are  entitled,  if  you  wish — "  then 
he  broke  off.  "You  must  show  due  re- 
spect to  this  Court,"  he  said  severely,  as 
100 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

she  looked  back  at  the  butterfly.  "Yes, 
you  wusship!"  she  answered,  imitating 
the  Babu's  English  quite  unconsciously. 
The  Collector  dropped  his  rebuke,  and 
went  on: 

" — entitled  to  prosecute  the  Sub-In- 
spector for  malicious  prosecution " 

She  interrupted  him,  with  a  gleam  of 
humour  that  surprised  even  him. 

"  One  of  the  duties  of  a  devotee,"  she 
said,  in  her  deep,  rich  voice,  "  is  forgive- 
ness of  injury.  I  forgive  the  Babu  freely 
and  from  my  heart." 

"  Babu,"  said  the  Collector,  "  you  are  a 
lucky  man." 

The  Sub-Inspector's  feelings  were  too 
deep  for  tears. 

"  The  Court  is  now  adjourned!  " 

Every  one  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  as 
the  judicial  cloud  lifted.  The  crowd  began 
to  melt  away,  and  disappeared. 

"  Babu,  you  had  better  take  the  sergeant 
and  your  three  constables  and  bring  the 
Day  Book.  As  I  said,  for  you  the  case  is 
only  beginning." 

101 


Kela  Bai: 

That  was  not  quite  true.  The  Collector 
never  recurred  to  it;  but,  with  fine  malice, 
let  it  hang  over  the  Sub-Inspector  till  he 
wasted  away.  For  hours  that  afternoon 
he  hovered  about  the  verge  of  the  grove, 
in  deadly  fear,  expecting  the  sword  to  fall; 
forgetting  even  to  bully  his  subordinates, 
who  nevertheless  moved  in  dread.  Mean- 
while, however,  they  all  retreated  to  the 
police  station  and  collapsed.  Their  repu- 
tation was  gone,  and  there  would  be  no 
more  bribes  forever.  They  sucked  their 
hookahs  steadily  for  an  hour  before  they 
moved  again.  This  was  what  the  Collec- 
tor had  counted  on.  He  wanted  the  coast 
clear  for  Kela  Bai's  departure. 

"  Orderly,"  he  said  next,  "  go  and  give 
my  salaams  to  the  Deputy  Magistrate,  and 
say  that  I  wish  to  see  him  in  two  hours. 
Stay  with  him,  and  bring  him  to  the 
camp." 

"  G-ot  rid  of  that  rascal,"  he  said,  half- 
aloud,  and  then  walked  magisterially  over 
to  the  dinner-tent. 

"KhodaBaksh!"  he  called. 
102 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

The  butler  appeared  instantly,  answering: 

"Your  Excellency " 

"While  I  was  out  riding  this  morning, 
I  saw  some  egg-plants  about  a  mile  down 
the  river;  go  and  ask  the  owner  of  the 
field  to  sell  some." 

He  knew  perfectly  well  that  the  butler 
would  simply  impress  the  vegetables,  and 
never  dream  of  paying;  but  that  was  quite 
indifferent  to  his  purpose.  He  next 
marched  over  to  the  grooms. 

"  Take  Prince  and  Justinian  down  the 
river-bank  for  exercise,"  he  said;  "  I  shall 
not  ride  this  evening." 

In  five  minutes  the  two  grooms  were 
gone.  The  Collector  watched  them  dis- 
appear behind  a  green  knoll  by  the  river, 
and  then  turned  back  towards  his  tent. 

Kela  Bai  was  still  standing  close  to  the 
table.  She  had  not  moved  since  the  scene 
of  the  butterfly.  But  she  was  not  alone. 
Mani  Bewa  and  Moti  Bibi,  who  had  been 
lurking  on  the  confines  of  the  grove,  were 
there  red-eyed,  and  with  ashes  in  their 
hair.  They  were  whining  piteously,  and 
103 


Kela  Bai: 

Kela  Bai  was  watching  them  with  far-away 
eyes.  Mani  Bewa  was  carrying  a  perch  on 
a  loop  of  wire.  A  fine  green  parrot,  with 
a  blaze  of  scarlet  on  his  crown,  sat  thereon. 
It  was  Tota.  As  the  Collector  came  up, 
the  far-away  look  left  Kela  Bai's  eyes,  and 
they  came  to  a  focus  on  his  face.  Then 
she  turned  towards  Tota. 

"I  have  brought  you  a  present,"  she 
said,  unconsciously  dropping  all  titles. 
' '  He  is  Tota,  my  son.  He  is  a  very  good 
boy " 

"Go  to  Gehenna,  son  of  a  swine!" 
from  Tota,  in  a  shrill,  demoniac  voice. 

The  Collector  raised  his  eyebrows,  and 
looked  quizzically  at  Kela  Bai :  "  So  I  per- 
ceive." 

She  was  blushing  deeper  than  she  had 
ever  blushed  in  her  life,  and  her  neck  and 
face  were  a  rich  red  bronze. 

"You  are  my  father!"  she  murmured 
at  last.  Then  a  smile  came  into  her  eyes 
as  she  thought  of  something:  "  And  he  is 
my  son.  So  he  must  be  your  grandson. 
Therefore  I  hope  you  will  train  his  morals; 
104 


An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

perhaps  give  him  a  complete  English  educ- 
ation— like  the  Babu,"  here  she  laughed 
outright. 

"  Go  and  hang  the  perch  in  the  veranda 
of  the  tent,"  he  said  to  the  old  women. 
They  tottered  off. 

"  So  you  have  become  a  pilgrim,  and  are 
going  away  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  graver  tone. 

"  Yes,  to  join  the  pilgrims  who  pass  by 
the  Nawab's  road,  or  to  Puri,  to  Benares, 
perhaps  to  Hard  war,"  and  the  far-away 
look  came  into  her  eyes  again. 

"Well,  dear  child,"  said  the  Collector 
at  last,  and  at  the  ring  of  feeling  in  his 
voice  she  started,  and  looked  him  full  in 
the  face;  "  there  is  little  I  can  do  for  you, 
but  I  can  at  least  heartily  wish  you  all 
good,  and  give  you  my  blessing." 

He  laid  his  hand  rather  sadly  on  her 
head,  as  if  she  had  been  a  little  child,  and 
her  eyes  suddenly  filled  with  tears.  She 
caught  his  other  hand,  and  would  have 
pressed  it  to  her  lips,  but  he  prevented 
her,  holding  her  hand  firmly  for  a  mo- 
ment. Then  he  said : 
105 


Kela  Bai:   An  Anglo-Indian  Idyl 

"  Time  to  say  good-bye,  and  set  out,  my 
child;  the  way  is  clear  at  present,  but  may 
not  long  be  so.  Don't  forget  that  you 
have  enemies.  And  do  not  forget  that 
you — have  friends." 

So  they  parted.  She  was  sobbing  softly. 
The  Collector  watched  her  thread  her  way 
among  the  trees,  wondering  rather  wist- 
fully whether  he  would  ever  see  her  again. 
She  passed  out  of  the  shadow  into  the 
sunshine,  entering  a  path  that  led  across 
the  rice-fields  to  the  Nawab's  road,  in  the 
opposite  direction  from  the  village.  She 
soon  diminished  to  a  white  stroke  on  the 
brown  horizon.  Twice  she  turned  to  look 
back,  though  the  Collector,  standing  in 
deep  shadow,  was  invisible.  Then,  as 
the  great  shining  world  opened  before  her, 
that  India  for  ages  infinitely  reverent  to  all 
pilgrims,  her  step  grew  more  alert,  and  she 
went  gaily  forward  to  the  bright  unknown. 

The  Collector  turned  on  his  heel : 

"And  now,"  he  said,  "  to  inventa  story 
for  Khoda  Baksh,  as  to  how  I  came  by  her 
precious  son." 

106 


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